Chronicles of the Aericanus Heroes
by Strider2901
Summary: This new series is based upon John Flanagan's Rangers Apprentice but only featuring the main characters such as Will and Alyss in the first chapter. This story continues after the events of Royal Ranger but Alyss is still very much alive. Also, the story will begin to take a life of its own after the Epilogue. Without further ado, Welcome to the Chronicles of the Aericanus Heroes!
1. Prologue

**Note:**

This new series is based upon John Flanagan's Rangers Apprentice but only featuring the main characters such as Will, Horace and Alyss in the first chapter. This story continues after the events of Royal Ranger but Alyss is still very much alive. Also, I planned this story to take up a life of its own separate from Ranger's Apprentice asides from the locations.

 _ **Last Note:**_ I do not own any rights to John Flanagan's Rangers Apprentice; However the Chronicles of the Aericanus Heroes is completely original!

 ** _Epilogue:_**

Will rode up towards a giant twisting tree spiralling higher and higher towards the sky, clearly the eldest tree amongst this forest. Tug whined as the uncomfortable weight of Will, Alyss and their package burdened him. Will slowly patted Tug's mane, careful not to disturb a napping Alyss, Tug simply trotted along until he stopped right before the mysterious trunk's roots. Will gently patted Alyss on her golden locks, she woke with a start before coming to the conclusion that they had arrived.

Will quickly dismounted Tug and pulled on his quiver and flipped his bow around, he strode towards the middle of the massive tree and cautiously he knocked thrice. Will thought to himself, "Darn it, had Malcolm told me earlier about this trip I wouldn't have gone. And what is with sorcerers and their forests." His train of thought was interrupted by what seemed like two huge stalks that appeared before him, Will's hand instantly reached for an arrow. Alyss who was removing the package from Tug's saddle suddenly shrieked and shouted, "Will look up!" Will's eyes followed the giant stalks higher and higher slowly evolving into a barrel-like chest and finally resting upon the withered face of a man. The face looked so ordinary and yet had a sense of serenity radiating from it. Without warning a bright flash illuminated the forest and Will dropped his bow and ran to shield Alyss. Then as sudden as the light appeared it waned away and in the tall stalks place stood a man.

The man was so tall he seemed to loom over, Tug whined and took several steps back in angst. Will recovered from his shock and cried out, "Are you Treeno the All Seeing? We have come from the Kingdom of Araluen to deliver to you a parcel from the healer Malcolm." From the depths of the figure came a very subtle murmur, and then the figure spoke, "Indeed, you have come to the right place, I am indeed Treeno the All-Seeing. Where is the parcel that Malcolm has sent?" At this point, Alyss strode towards the Treeno with all the confidence that she could muster and slowly placed the squirming parcel upon the forest floor. "Master Seeker, why is this parcel so important that it required a Ranger to deliver it. And why is this package so delicate it required a woman's touch to carry it."

The figure seemed to ponder Alyss's words for a moment and then stepped once, twice and stopped. The figure seemed to squat over the parcel but gently picked up the parcel, Treeno gingerly pulled away the cloth to reveal a floundering and healthy baby that seemed to glow. Will and Alyss shared a deep gasp of shock realizing why the parcel was so fragile. Will asked, "Treeno, who is this baby?" and Treeno simply replied, "He will be the next King of the Kingdom of the Aericanus, he will be known for being everywhere yet nowhere, and he will be the greatest mind of them all!"


	2. Chapter 1

**_Chapter 1:_**

*Cling* *Clang* *gruff gruff*

"Ha, you cannot possibly defeat me Jeremiah! I am the swift, there is not one brute force that can catch me." Proclaimed Sir Michael the Swift as he sparred with Sir Jeremiah of the Bear, they seemed to be in a tense lock of swords and shields or at least in the case of Sir Jeremiah a sword and pieces of a shield. "I don't need to catch you Michael, I simply have to break your sword arm!" exclaimed Jeremiah with a deep breath of air he stepped around Sir Michael and delivered a knockout haymaker. Without any warning, Sir Michael dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the ground without any resistance.

*Clap Clap Clap*

"Excellent move brother! Perhaps next time you can tone down your punch strength maybe, a concussion isn't too good for our brother's waning brain cell count" Prince Jon jeered towards his sparring brothers. Jeremiah quipped back, "Perhaps if you stopped sticking your nose into books thicker than your skull you could fight like a man instead of simply shying away from combat like a child"

"Prince!" exclaimed a booming voice, "I come bearing grave news, the sorcerer Reivynn of the Raven has been identified in the Far East! From our preliminary reports from our scouts it appears that he has mustered the tribes of Keen Ching and Ced Chong." From behind the bantering brothers was a rather stocky yet incredibly muscular woman dressed in ivory armour with a gold helmet tucked under the crutch of her arm.

"Captain, that is indeed grave news." Replied Prince Jon.

"Who then would you like me to summon? Perhaps assembling a war cabinet is best, shall I muster up Commander Bappy from whichever Gallican woman's bed he has decided to hibernate in? Or perhaps the Admiral?" Asked the Captain of the Guards, Aaliana Labradoge.

*oompf*

"URGH, dammit Jeremiah! Next time try not to strike me so hard!" cried out Sir Michael, as he was slowly helped up to his feet by a petite raven haired lady.

"Thank you, Admiral Rose" thanked Sir Michael, as he stood to retrieve his bow, quiver and long sword.

"Captain Labradoge, there is no need to summon me. Consider me well versed in recent events considering that it was my naval scouts that noticed the dark sorcerer's movements in the Far East." Commented Admiral Rose, almost accusingly at the Captain, their rivalry was icy at best.

"Absolutely right, Admiral Rose, but perhaps you would like to enlighten our Prince of your recent training exercises with the Skandians?" Captain Aaliana shot back.

Breaking the exchange with a deep sigh Prince Jon declared, "Ladies, now is not the time to squabble over your differences. Summon my war cabinet, muster up Commander Bappy and Sergeant Kiichiro from whatever deep slumber they lie in from their late night festivities!"

"Oh and one more thing, get Chef Daven to cook me up a good meal. Combat makes me hungry as hell" continued the Prince.

Almost immediately, Sir Jeremiah and Sir Michael cried out, "We second that motion!"


	3. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2:_**

The air in the room was tense. Jeremiah, Michael, and Prince Jon were sitting around a round table with a map of the known world in front of them. Commander Bappy and Admiral Rosalina were flanked around them arguing while the Captain of the Guards, Aaliana Labradoge simply sat quietly pondering when they, Bappy and Rose would ever agree on something. They were expecting a visitor who was of great importance and was not to be disappointed as well as planning their counter attack for anything that that sorcerer Reivynn had in store for them.

The commanders were inspecting the Ng's, suspecting their panic as they were furiously thinking on how to appease their people.

"You mean to say that you can't scry Reivynn of the Raven's plans?", Jeremiah of the Bear made a pathetic attempt to try and speak quietly.

Sir Michael the Swift rolled his eyeballs. No matter how hard he tried, his brother couldn't fully understand the concept of subtlety. Prince Jon was practically shoveling food into his mouth. Sadly, the brothers knew all too well that this was a sign of his nervousness.

"No, no. It's not that I can't scry them. All I know is that there is something stopping me; something malevolent - a new power." Jon replied defensively and still chewing.

Not only did the adolescent Ng wield an innate wisdom and tactical genius that exceeded anyone within the dynasty but he also had some powers in healing and scrying – the flawed ability to perceive the future and present situations.

Meanwhile, you could hear Commander Bappy's continual argument that they must surrender to the evil sorcerer before all of the Aericanus's citizens are massacred, but of course Admiral Rose simply fought back with the fact that they could always sail to Scandia and Araluen to aks for help from King Horace and Queen Cassandra.

Jeremiah of the Bear roared in triumph, a bit too eagerly. The goblets shook on the table and everyone within the palace felt it. He didn't get his title for nothing. "Aha! Then you can't see the threat therefore you can't scry Reivynn of the Raven's plans. Your powers have failed you!". For a while, the Warrior was slightly envious of his brother's lead. For decades, the Ng Dynasty looked up to his iron fist with Michael working contentedly in the shadows, but his younger brother's leadership skills surpassed his own. It was only natural.

Commanders Bappy and Rosie exchanged a knowing glance. Rosie whispered "Here we go again".

Bappy could only agree. He hailed from the distant lands of Gallia and nobody knew how he ended up within the Ng Dynasty. Some say he appeared from the thick forest, emaciated and wild with a white cloth draped on his shoulders although nobody knew why. Not too surprisingly, he was quite a spectacle within the Eastern region. Sometimes, he could get tired of this land's uncouth ways and missed the more diplomatic fashion of his own but there was a reason why he left.

Meanwhile, Michael sighed and thought to himself "The higher they are, the further they have to fall".

With a glare, he chastened his huge brother "Jeremiah, whose side are you on? We are facing a common enemy and we need all of our attention focused on him. Now will you please give up your foolish squabbles with our brother."

Jon looked at Michael gratefully. He was one of the only people who could silence the mighty Warrior himself without violence and he did it at the best times possible. Past experiences have taught them not to trifle with the champion of the Ng Dynasty in his forte, which involved hitting things… very hard.

However, the otherwise levelheaded Hunter was getting worked into a frenzy and began one of his famous episodes.

"Jeremiah how could you be so foolish?" His voice grew shrill.

"We are facing a foe, possibly even foes, even greater than we have ever seen. People are losing faith in us and you are here trying to prove our brother useless. We need all of our talents and abilities combined to win and it is of utmost importance that we do so, otherwise may the gods help us for…".

"For what?" rang a new voice. At this, Michael the Swift cut his angry tirade short, Jon sat up noticeably straighter and everyone looked in the direction of the doors.

There was a deafening silence as Princess Amanda, Heiress of the Hunt stepped into the room. At 18, a similar age to Prince Jon, she was forced into adulthood as well as our hero. With the Queen of the Hunt dead, she was left with her advisors to guide her. The Hunt was a band of scouts who had very similar skill to Michael and carried out the more covert tasks maintaining the Ng Dynasty had to offer. They were the Rangers of the East you could say, except for the fact that most of them were women and the Princess was very good friends with the Ranger Madelyn. The Queen answered to the three brothers and the three brothers alone and her rangers looked up to her in turn.

Jeremiah commended her for her bravery. At only the starting years of adulthood, she could muster the courage to get the attention of three of the most powerful people in such a straightforward manner.

Despite that, her movements looked a bit forced and there was a hint of nervousness in her eyes. The death of her mother was still fresh and was still a sensitive topic to her. Michael shook his head. She's just a child but a leader was a leader and he had to make sure she knew who was the superior.

In a businesslike manner, Michael strode towards his subordinate.

"You're late". He stated succinctly.

Once he was at arm's reach, quicker than thought, her dagger practically flew out of its scabbard and was pointing at his throat. However, Michael was faster and grabbed her wrist.

Dangerously, she spat. "I may not be my mother but you should treat me with the same respect you have given her".

Exhaling, Michael knew he wasn't flawless. Like his brother, he was jealous of his unofficial predecessor. She was light years ahead in his skills in the woodland crafts when he was her age and that frustrated him. But for now, he was the senior and his powers were beginning to decline. At the age of 62, he could remember back decades when he would teach her mother the ways of the hunter. Now her daughter was challenging his skill. Michael felt guilty - he should be proud to have such a worthy successor.

Gritting his teeth and looking down, he asked for pardon "I apologize. I respected your mother and you deserve nothing more or nothing less."

The anger vanished as soon as it came. She grinned "Good. Let's talk about more important matters."

"So Jon. What do you think we should do? What is the threat?"

He stuttered and started wrinkling his nose "Umm – Hmm. Well… do you mind sending some detachments of scouts here, here and here" He was pointing to different regions in the map. "um, fire at anything that causes trouble and report of any weird activity?". He ended the sentence with a somewhat questioning tone.

Looking frustrated, she said "I have only fifty hunters within my ranks and at least 10 of them are not ready for action and 30 more are still out there and we haven't heard of them. Surely I can't send the 10 more out? Those are all of my forces. This isn't an army. It takes time to train these people and there are few who have the ability to apply much less earn an apprenticeship."

Prince Jon simply resumed eating.

In realization, she asked: "Do you really know what you are doing and are your scrying abilities working for you?"

In reply, Jon's tone was simple and his face began to redden. "I am still eating".

"Excuse me?" She asked in disbelief.

"HE IS STILL EATING!" Jeremiah's cry once again shook the palace. In his silence, everyone forgot of the large and boisterous warrior but once again he got their attention.

"NOW WILL YOU LEAVE OUR LEADER IN PEACE TO SORT THIS MATTER OUT! HE IS GOING THROUGH A LOT AND NEEDS TIME TO THINK ALONE! THANK YOU AND A GOOD DAY TO YOU!"

The would - be queen if the prince actually agreed to anything, Amanda, stormed out of the room - her body rigid with rage and hurt dignity. The Captain of the Guards Aaliana filed out along with her, perhaps in an effort to mitigate the damage.

Michael nodded in approval. For once his brother has learned to work as a team. He would have preferred it to be a bit quieter and less aggressive but it was a start and there was room for improvement.

Jeremiah of the Bear gave his younger brother a playful grin and roughly elbowed him. Prince Jon winced painfully.

"So brother, what do you think of that vixen, eh? Easy on the eyes isn't she?".

The youth simply kept eating and looking straight at his food.

Michael couldn't help but follow up his brothers teasing. "What do you think?" he prodded.

Prince Jon looked up, swallowed his mouthful and took a deep breath.

"6.5", came his hasty reply and another spoonful came in.

And with his legendary words, the decimal was invented.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**_

 _ **Sorry for the delay loyal readers! Enjoy Chapter 3!**_

Prince Jon wheezed as he ran and barely managed to stay ahead of the fleet - footed Hunter's urgent pace and Jeremiah's massive strides. The echo of their steps could be heard in the halls of their palace.

"Brother, you seem really excited. I have never seen you run so fast – in fact, I don't think I've ever seen you run at all!" Jeremiah boomed heartily, trotting along.

Michael bit back a sarcastic remark. His huge comrade meant well but had no sense of occasion. However, Jon's present condition was starting to worry him. His face was flushed bright red, sweat pouring down his brow and his breathing sounded a bit unnatural. Perhaps the joking observation was Jeremiah's very strange and affectionate way of telling his brother not to overexert himself.

Feeling sympathetic, Michael amended "You really should calm down, there is no rush".

In reality, all of his instincts said there was a pressing reason to rush but it wouldn't help if the ruler and possible savior of the Aericanus Kingdom fainted on the spot.

Suddenly, the Prince halted in his step and doubled over wheezing in pain, Jeremiah quickly took his arm and pulled Prince Jon to his feet.

*wheez* "Here we are brothers, the library!" *wheez* Prince Jon announced, still wheezing.

"What is going on, Jon?" asked Michael. The winded prince looked at him.

"Does all this haste have anything to do with the girl?" Jeremiah added in a bit too innocently.

No one noticed but somehow Prince Jon became even redder.

Grimacing, he caught his breath after a few seconds of panting and managed to finally say something.

"Michael, I am taking you two to the library. It may have the key to finding out whatever this thing is that I cannot scry and no, this has nothing to do with her." The latter part was emphasized quite dismissively with a wave of his hand.

Prince Jon, in his hurriedness forgot to think logically and attempted to open the massive double doors of the library, which towered high above them and guarded what was on the other side. He was straining with all of his juvenile might but he may as well have been trying to move a stone wall.

"Allow me, brother." Jeremiah gently moved Jon aside, placed each of his hands on the doors, with legs and arms heaving actually managed to move them aside. With a great big huff he pulled the oaken doors, a large cloud of dust shook from the sides of each door.

Despite the Warrior's tremendous display of strength, what was even more awesome were the massive halls of the Kingdom's oasis of knowledge. The walls were lined with shelves containing scroll, upon scrolls of transcripts from distant lands and handwritten copies of the arts. The production of paper was incredibly expensive at that age but the master craftsmen of the Aericanus had their ways.

Prince Jon started searching amongst the scrolls frantically.

"All we have to do is find something - I don't know, some sort of… of weapon or item that might bolster my scrying powers or… anything that may allow me to find out about what we are facing." He told his brothers as he scanned the section archiving the "Items of Power".

In a resigned manner, Michael commented "The sooner we start, the sooner we'll finish – if we can even find something", and followed his brother's example. The last statement was like a worrisome note that hung in the air.

"Weapons, armor - herbs and spices; is there anything else you have in this place?" Jon said as he looked through the archives at a lightning pace.

Jeremiah was browsing the area on lore and history while he butted in "You can't ask warriors like me to read books or do any thinking but we are good at bashing things. I remember there was this one time… "

His story was cut short as he shouldered a bookshelf and all the scrolls on the Dynasty's relatively recent origins went toppling off. Michael gave him a withering look and started picking them back up but one of them caught Jon's eyes.

"Wait a second…" as he snatched one of the scrolls Michael was about to pick up.

The neat characters were inscribed by the Hunter himself and there was a small entry on a certain person in the summary:

"Jules, also appropriately calling himself the "King of Thieves" is recognized for his incredible abilities in stealth, trickery and improvised hand to hand combat. These skills are further bolstered by the items and artefacts he has come across in his line of industry but even without them, he is someone you should be wary of. He is also said to have knowledge of any significant items of power in the known world. Jeremiah and I have had dealings with him in the past and we have decided that he is quite neutral in his allegiances. His whereabouts are unknown as unlike any other king, he prefers to work alone but that doesn't make his title any less fitting."

At this, Jon's eyes widened. "Any significant item you say? Do you have any idea whatsoever about where he could be? None at all?"

His brothers simply stared. While Jeremiah continued, Michael took him to a corner and started speaking quietly.

"The thing is that that description was no exaggeration. We simply couldn't find him again. The last time we saw him, he left on his own terms and honestly was the only one who truly benefited from that whole ordeal but that's a different story. He was also the only human we met who could consistently best your brother in single combat - without aid which explains his mood right now."

Prince Jon was honestly shocked at this. Everyone, even Michael, looked up to the Warrior for his prodigious fighting ability. The two looked back to see Jeremiah silently sulking to himself at the thought of having to meet his rival again.

"The point is is that man is uncanny and unless you yourself are nothing short of an ancient, then you can never expect to truly get the best out of a deal with him. I say it isn't worth it, but I admit - you are wiser and if this is truly what you believe in, I will use whatever is in my power to help you achieve this."

"Well then I guess it's settled then!" Prince Jon said as he rubbed his hands in anticipation "Let us go and catch the mouse by its tail."

Michael could only give him a foreboding look.

The three were snapped out of an awkward silence when they could hear the heavy steps of a person came charging into the room. The brothers all swivled their heads towards the intruder, Michael's hand ready to draw his knife from its scabbard. In a few moments, a helmed head emerged from the forest of shelves and books, the newcomer was Captain Aaliana and her body language was urgent.

Finally managing to regain her breath, she saluted and informed the brothers,

"There is a battalion of strange horned creatures attacking the main gates. My scouts have identified them as Northern Morgs most likely under the banner of Keen Ching. These Morgs are well armoured and equipped, we are not sure as to how they were able to slip through our outposts. I have allowed Commander Bappy to mobilise the cavalry and Admiral Rose has begun moving our Viking Class Cruisers through the Longbrow Canal to cut off the Morgs."

Prince Jon, snapped out of his deep thoughts with the reality of a threat, replied hastily.

"That is very good work Captain, relay the orders for the cavalry to flank the Morgs by exiting the Castle through Fort Dreadnought, also send our two divisions of Lancers and Archers to halt the advance of the Morgs. I will send Michael out to lead the Lancers, Jeremiah and I shall ride out with the Cavalry."

Captain Aaliana simply nodded and sprinted out to issue the orders.

"Damn, this new threat is beginning to become a nuisance" Jeremiah said through gritted teeth, his leadership instincts kicking in.

"Well lets what we have up against us" Michael shrugged.


	5. Chapter 4

**_Author's Note:_**

 ** _Sorry for the delay guys, my co-author and I have been swamped with work but so far we have been working extra hard to get these chapters and the story itself moving forward and gaining momentum! Without further ado, welcome back to the Chronicles of the Aericanus Heroes!_**

Michael stood in the ranks of Lancers as he watched the enemy's advance. His fingers drummed lightly on the handle of the unusually long weapon in his hands. A clumsy weapon, he thought to himself, the lance was. He didn't understand how some of the stronger warriors in the Kingdom could use it to such devastating effect. He would have preferred using his massive recurve bow alongside the archers but the troops who were taking the brunt of the fight needed a leader for morale, especially against this enemy.

Eyes scanning the horizon, he assessed the oncoming crowd of bestial creatures and in turn compared their own. The Morgs seemed to have no fear. To make things worse their armor was capable of repelling just about any weapon and they were simply physically and instinctively superior to the average human in a fight. They were abominations bred for war.

In turn, he looked at his own cohort. Over the past few months, their numbers have diminished due to attacks like these but the enemy seemed to have endless numbers. If anything, the Morgs have adapted to their soldier's abilities making them even more formidable. However, no one within the Dynasty was willing to give in even if they had to battle to their last man. Jeremiah and Michael hadn't personally trained these fighters for nothing.

Experience told him that there were at least four-hundred of them. These were insufficient numbers to totally overthrow them but enough to wreak havoc if unchecked or underestimated.

"This could get gristly." Michael exhaled silently. Prince Jon's cavalry flanking maneuver allowed the brothers to be a bit thrifty with their men and assign only a hundred Lancers to attract their attention and forty archers to support them on the outpost walls.

At a closer look, the Morgs seemed to have a leader. It was much taller, fiercer and even less human than the rest of the pack. Its muscles rippled under its armor and on it was a rune glowing dark purple. Michael tried to recall what it meant, something that his scholarly brother was reading in his pastime. That's it! It was the rune for strength. At that realization, his heart fell. Such magic had ancient origins and held untold power. He was willing to bet that the gargantuan iron staff it brandished like a toy could fell the gates in a few strikes. It couldn't get near the fortress' walls, at all costs.

"Lock shields" Michael calmly stated and the men obeyed.

Prince Jon wasn't the only one with any tactical knowledge "Avoid trading blows with them and maintain the wall. All we have to do is stall until the cavalry gets here, then the day is ours." But he still didn't know what to do about their most dangerous adversary.

The enemy moved forward to the point that there was only a stone's throw between the two bands of soldiers. The lead Morg stepped forward arrogantly with an authoritative air. It seemed to be looking at Michael.

"Greetings Hunter." His eyebrows shot up at the fact that the creature could speak.

"We have come under an incredibly formidable being, one that you mere humans won't even begin to comprehend. You and your kingdom have turned out to be the first hindrance to his supreme rule so we can give you a choice. Surrender to us now or you can fight and whether you win this battle or not, you will face eventual defeat against his might."

Michael saw an opportunity in this "Who is this being, might I ask?" His tone was reasonable.

At that, the beast simply scoffed and the rest of its cohorts jeered at his apparent ignorance.

Michael knew that they would most definitely kill these intruders, especially if the cavalry arrived and if their cruisers could intercept the Morgs' retreat. They could solve any future problems later. However, he and his troops could very well all be dead by the time the reinforcements arrived which was a loss in itself.

Steeling himself, Michael replied "We can't stand down as we don't know the possible consequences if we do so."

The commander roared "Attack!" and the fearsome legion charged.

…

Commander Bappy checked his saddle for the fifteenth time before they would go to war. This could be the last time he did. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the barrel of a horse that stood before him. He remembered his younger years in Gallica when he owned a tall, white stallion named Thunder. Reminiscing, he smiled to himself; those were the days. He and Thunder would ride into battle and the image of him, double edge sword swinging in the air and his horse, rearing on its hind legs struck fear into his enemies. That was until his prized horse became too old for that sort of thing.

Then he looked at his placid mare, Blossom, and wondered how on earth did he get himself into this situation. Fighting supernatural beings and defending a distant kingdom while riding on what was a far-cry from his beloved Thunder was not how he pictured his future. Blossom did earn his respect as did most horses of her breed. Nevertheless, the fact that he was much taller than the average local made the sight of him sitting on the little horse downright silly.

At least Sergeant at Arms Kiichiro Kat had finally deployed his new project, the Dragon Breath. Getting the idea from Ranger Will's complacent apprentice Maddie whom has said many times that the standard Ranger bow did not scare away Kalkara nor Morgs. The Dragon Breath was the answer to her frustrations, and like any other weapon it went through many iterations before settling on a short barrel with a curved stock much like an Elephant's tusk. The barrel held a single charge of 3 medium sized lead balls and firework powder with a small sprinkling of a liquid Sergeant Kiichiro stated was called napalm. When the firework powder was lit, the charge blew out sending the napalm and lead ball combination speeding out the barrel in a fiery blaze.

Bappy was more than happy to receive one of the few prototypes of the Dragon Breath, after facing down several wild Kalkara in Galica as a young knight he could never get over the fact that these beasts could not be scared away by any mortal instrument. Only when Malcolm the mage came to Galica in search for mercenaries did Bappy realize the importance of magic in aiding in combat against beasts such as the Kalkara and the Morgs.

His silent brooding was interrupted by the heavy steps of Jeremiah himself with Prince Jon following close behind.

"Point the ships down the Longbrow canal." came Jon's inaudible command which died down in the bustle of things. As usual, he was breathless from the running.

"Point the ships down the Longbrow canal." echoed Jeremiah to no - one in particular with a heroic air. However this time the order was heard.

Admiral Rose replied, goading her men "Aye - aye, look sharp! You heard him, now move!"

"To stop the Morgs from escaping." The youth attempted and failed to be heard once again.

"We will cut off the retreat of these vermin and reclaim our land!" Jeremiah raised his fist with bravado which was followed by a cheer from the empowered fighters. Meanwhile, Prince Jon stood in the corner and moped. He still had a lot to learn in the charisma aspect of leadership.

Jeremiah finally reached the Gallican, "Commander Bappy, we will be riding out through Fort Dreadnought to flank these Morg scum and crush them. Is that right Prince Jon?"

"Yes - yes, perfectly right." His sudden loss of authority still smarted and he spoke in a detached tone. But with a sigh and then a smirk, Prince Jon added, "Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war"

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Thanks for reading Chapter 4 guys! I'd like to introduce my co-author and I's beta-readers, they go by the pen names Boy of Steel and CrazyCookieRama! Without them this story would have a lot of grammatical errors and other such! If you'd like to beta-read for us please feel free to contact me by PM to Strider2901 or my co-author Mootheman.**_


	6. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note:**_

 ** _Hi Loyal Readers, sorry for the extended delay, even my co-author had begun to be annoyed with the delay. Unfortunately, the internet has not been kind to me as of late. Thank you!_**

Black as night, the Royal Cavalry galloped through the canals underneath Fort Dreadnought, their shadows like wraiths dancing upon the narrow walls. "Faster men!" cried Jeremiah as his own steed struggled to gallop through the mud encrusted ground and fighting the supreme weight that Jeremiah's armour carried. Tremors shook the ceiling of the canal as fighting broke out above, Prince Jon could only imagine what terrors of bloodshed occurred on top.

Just as he began to doubt his plan, darkness drew to a conclusion as the battalion broke free of the canal and galloped out in diamond formation towards the undefended gate of Fort Dreadnought. Even from afar, all the men and women in the cavalry could see the crooked corpses of slain Morgs and a few armoured bodies of the fallen Aericanus guard.

…

"Archers fire when ready! Lancers – phalanx formation, Advance!" bellowed Michael as he began to run in position, his lance wavered as the phalanx formation began to speed up.

The archers behind the three battalions of lancers released their arrows. The bristling black wall rose up like a tidal wave and crashed straight upon the charging Morgs. The creatures that were hit fell or staggered on, bristling like porcupines.

An huge sense of satisfaction washed over Michael as the odds evened out a bit. He ordered the Lancers to advance. Disconcertingly, the lead Morg seemed to only become larger as more of his brethren fell, the purple rune on its breastplate burned even brighter. Michael knew that it was giving the Morg strength. He was sure that a single swipe from its staff could devastate their ranks and all would be lost. However, Michael could keep it from getting to the main body of Lancers if he challenged it to one on one combat.

Finally making up his mind, Michael held his lance in an underhand grip and in a last ditch effort, heaved it at the lead Morg. Hopefully killing their leader would win the fight before it even started. The clumsy weapon wasn't of much use to Michael anyway. Almost casually, the towering Morg swatted the lance aside and the weapon disappeared amongst the legion.

"So much for that." The Hunter sighed.

…

Waves crashed against the wooden hulls of the ship as they sailed effortlessly through the Longbrow Canal.

"Raise the mainsail! Archers to starboard! Prepare the ballistae!" cried Admiral Rose as she hurriedly paced through the command deck.

Men and women rushed around her to prepare the ship for war. The crew were loading bolts into the ballistae, some hooked shields upon the bulwarks for protection although the majority were strapping on combat armour as they prepared themselves to land.

Princess Amanda looked worse for wear, her face was lined with mud and dried blood from her recent encounter with a group of Morg scouts trying to gain access to the southern gates where Fort Courage stood.

She strode up to the admiral and said, "Rose, you really mustn't worry so much. Michael and his division of Lancers will be more than able to fend off the Morgs."

"I'm not worried about the Lancers, I'm simply preparing myself for another bloody skirmish. And Jon, ahem the Prince, will be more than capable of reinforcing Michael's division."

Laying, a hand on her friend's shoulder they watched as the calm waters were cut by the ship. Little did they know of the new threat that was the the Morg bolstered by dark magic.

…

The two forces clashed and there was a blur of motion as the bristling lance tips found their marks. But the Morgs were ferocious in their attack and ripped the shafts aside. The Lancers were forced to draw their swords and fight to survive the oncoming onslaught while the archers at the back tried their best to tip the battle in their favour.

As the two groups fought, Michael danced his way through the Morg ranks, tearing and slashing his way towards the lead Morg. Unfortunately, the archers were forced to stop firing or risk hitting their leader, instead they ran down to aid the Lancers with their swords and shields. Michael's twin daggers were like flashes of light as they leapt from one Morg to another. The blades were forged in Nihon – Ja by the great blacksmiths of the East as a gift after he travelled to their capital and crushed the guerrilla forces of a rival faction to the Emperor.

His weapons sang as they found the flesh of his opponents, each strike rung with a different note. He made steady progress towards his target as his hands moved with an uncanny speed, slicing and stabbing through chinks in the enemy's armour and hide.

The Hunter was like a whirlwind, cutting his foes down left and right but their superior numbers began to wear Michael and his forces down. Soon, the Morgs had surrounded the Aericanus forces, with their backs against the keep's gates. Their leader barked an order and the army's main body pushed ahead, moving the cohort of lancers and archers back. They had to retreat into the Fort's keep as they couldn't afford to be pressed up against its walls. Only twenty beasts stayed and they completely surrounded the lone Ng. Sheathing his daggers and fanning the smaller blades out, he gestured for them to attack.

Foolishly, the bravest one gave a bestial roar and charged alone to make an overhead swipe, arching towards the Hunter's head. It got a knife in the throat. With a masterful flick of the wrist, three more went down. He dodged, stabbed and threw. Each of the targets fell, clutching their necks in disbelief as their blood gushed out. Soon, the twenty Morgs were reduced to a group of dead or crippled soldiers.

"Do you want to cross your weapons with mine, do you want to see how strong I am? Well I'm here! Fight me if you aren't afraid of my challenge." Michael shouted into the air, thick with battle.

With a great roar that shook the fort's old walls, the Morg leader, eyes blazing with rage stormed towards. Throwing both forces back like ragdolls, the charging Morg rammed through until he was ten paces away from Michael.

Michael readied himself for it onslaught and quickly unsheathed his twin blades, he couldn't afford to be even hit once. He mentally rechecked his pre-combat preparation. Unfortunately for Michael, he could not even finish his thoughts before the Morg took a stance and jabbed its staff at him; the cruel, blunt end going straight for his chest.

…

Finally reaching the gates of Fort Courage, Prince Jon quickly assessed the corpse laden entrance. Realizing that the Morgs had entered, he instantly gave the command, "We must battle our way to the keep!"

Jeremiah hesitated, "Brother, I shall stay to charge in with the cavalry but I strongly suggest that you stay behind with your guard."

With a sigh of resignation, Prince Jon replied, "I do not need your advice right now, we must move in as fast possible before the Lancers are overrun. Now, enough of this, let's move." Just as he finished his reply and reined in his steed to prepare to gallop once more. A hand appeared and stopped him in his movement, tapping his shoulder twice, a voice behind him suggested,

"I agree with Sir Jeremiah, we really should stay behind and cover the entrance in case any more of them come."

Prince Jon turned to look at his advisor, and realized it was one of his bodyguards. Seeing the sense in his words, he finally rested his case and said, "Fine. Brother, ride forth. I shall stay behind with Lachlance and my guard."

With that, Jeremiah reined in his steed and nodded a look of approval to Lachlance and bellowed to the rest of the knights, "Follow me, we must support our allies!" The rest of the cavalry turned their steeds and galloped away leaving the Prince and four of his royal bodyguards.

Prince Jon slowly dismounted his horse and strode towards his bodyguard seeing the Prince walking to him, he too dismounted.

"I saw what you did there, the taps were subtle. What do you have in mind?" asked Prince Jon.

"To be honest I didn't think you'd notice but it's a good thing you did. My plan is that we scale the fort's walls and clear our way to the keep." replied Lachlance.

Pondering the thought, Prince Jon gingerly held on to the pommel of his longsword. He never really could make good use of it but it offered a sense of protection. He was yet to find a weapon that suited him. After a moment's thought he nodded and pulled out his scaling rope from his steed's side saddles.

Noticing their Prince's actions, his bodyguards did the same and walked their horses over to borders of the wall. Together they all threw their scaling ropes over the walls, and began climbing.

…

Jeremiah had his great battle axe swinging across both sides of his steed as he rode through the sea of men and monsters. "Ahhhhhhh, yes! It has been a long time since I have had this much fun!" whooped Jeremiah. His monstrous cries struck terror upon friend and foe alike.

Commander Bappy swung his sabre down, felling a particularly heavy Morg. The Gallican blade glistened with blood as he yanked it out. He awkwardly dismounted the little horse in the fear that he would trample his allies and wondered if he could get a taller horse.

In the distance he heard Jeremiah's bloodlust. Bappy always did wonder why Jeremiah loved killing his enemies. Suddenly, a huge club whistled towards his head so he shifted right. Annoyed, the Gallican took stock of his would - be killer. It wore a simple belt across it's chest and nothing more.

The Morg drew back it's club and swung once again only to have Bappy duck once more. While it was recovering, he managed to raise his sword. Enraged at missing it's mark, the Morg rammed him full in the chest with its horns. Only his breastplate saved his life as the creature forced him up a wall.

Pain shot up his back and he begun seeing stars. The saber fell from his temporarily immobilized fingers. Everything seemed to be miles away but he could hear metal crumpling. "Lord, please don't let this be my last battle."

As if it were a sign from heaven itself, he remembered that the prototype Dragon's Breath that Sergeant Kiichiro Kat gave to him was hanging by his side. With a supreme effort, he unhooked it, held it against the Morg's chest and pulled the trigger.

…

Prince Jon had never been closer to death as he desperately attempted to parry the Morg's blows. His bodyguards were all preoccupied with others and weren't in any position to help him. He wished he had accepted to take some swordsmanship lessons from his brother but he preferred books. Now only his instincts kept him alive. The Morg forced the prince into a corner and just as it was about to deal the killing blow…

 _CRACK_

The flat of Jeremiah's axe landed on top of the Morg's head. The sheer force of the blow managed to break one of its horns off. With a flick of the wrist, he knocked the monster's sword aside before it could fall on his younger brother.

"I thought you and your bodyguards were meant to stay outside with you!" came a concerned Jeremiah.

Prince Jon's was quick to reply. It tumbled out as if it has been rehearsed countless times. "You told me that a real leader fights alongside his or her people. I'm sorry but you know very well that I will have to assume that position eventually. Now can we please - WAIT IS THAT MICHAEL!?"

The two looked at the Hunter, who was under the mercy of the Morg leader. Its staff's tip was poised over his head, waiting to crush his skull. Jeremiah's face went grim and he said "Stay here. This should only take a second."

Prince Jon pleaded "At least take a potion of strength. The purple rune on its armour stands for might so it could probably kill you in a single blow."

"Sometimes, you have to live dangerously." The Warrior stood on his stirrups and in a fluid motion, put both feet on top of the saddle so that he was crouched on top of the little horse. He goaded it into a canter and rode straight to the Morg leader.

Jon sighed. Sometimes he couldn't understand his brother. Wondering to himself as he followed him amongst the chaos that was taking place.

...

Michael's eyes sought out those of the Morg commander and inevitably, they strayed towards the end of the staff hovering inches from his face. He wondered what would become of the Ng Dynasty with him gone. Hopefully they would destroy this new threat. He was slightly shocked at his calmness, but then again everyone had to die sometime. Even the legendary Hunter.

The beast cried in derision. "Did you really think that our leader would send mere foot soldiers to pick off pesky fighters such as you and your overgrown brother? No! He has been watching, studying your abilities, and consequently created me to defeat you. And so I did. You might as well surrender now because if you weak humans can't defeat the likes of us, then you stand no chance against the one that is all powerful."

In hindsight, Michael knew that the Morg wasn't lying. The speed that it fought with the staff was inhuman. It provided the perfect defense against his throwing knives and close - quarter daggers. He was willing to wager that it could deflect arrows as well. The creature spared his life by only nudging him with it's tip and was taking time to gloat.

A blast, similar to a roaring dragon snapped him out of his thoughts but the Morg stayed resolute. For a moment Michael grew nostalgic, then focused on the matter at hand. It was funny how everything grew quiet and it was as if he and his opponent were the only two things in this world that mattered. People say that as they see death approaching, their life flashes before their eyes. It was no different for him. Calmly, he watched as the staff went down knowing that there was nothing he could do.

He saw Jeremiah ride up from behind, on his horse except he was standing precariously upon the saddle. From his horse, he leapt onto the Morg's shoulders and pulled on its horns. This forced its head back, causing the weapon to stop right next to Michael's nose who then released a pent up breath. Despite the fact that the Morg was strengthened by the rune on its breastplate, having a two - hundred fifty pound man, armour and all, on its shoulders proved quite a burden to bear.

Before it could knock Jeremiah off with its staff, he leaned over and jabbed two fingers into its huge eye and with a mighty roar of pain, the Morg dropped its weapons. Its hands flew to its face feel the area that was bleeding.

Senses returning, Michael groggily stood up and saw that the Morg's throat was exposed to its head being pulled back by Jeremiah. Picking up one of his fallen daggers, he leisurely strode towards the creature.

Michael mocked. "You were right. You're master can conjure beings designed to beat us. But he or she forgets is that together, we can best whatever is thrown at us."

"Big words hunter, but wait till you see what our leader has in store. Let's see who will be laughing" The beast replied defiantly.

"Anytime now brother! Maybe I'll have to poke out its other eye." Jeremiah was beginning to dislike his new perch.

Michael effortlessly flipped the dagger and let if fly, and with a gentle thud, the dagger pierced the beast's throat. Blood trickling down its meaty torso, the lead Morg dropped to its knees and keeled to its left, dead. One by one, the Morgs began to notice that their leader had fallen. Then they fled.

…

With a colossal thump and a fiery blast of smoke, Bappy was shaken and bruised. He could smell singed leather. As the smoke cleared, he saw a hulking figure coming towards him and fearing the worst, he drew his dagger out. It was not a Morg that was approaching but in fact a bloody Jeremiah. None of it was his.

Jeremiah cheered jovially. "Bappy! Was that you that discharged the Dragon's Breath? I am happy to see you in one piece. But your gauntlet seems to be burnt but your opponent seems no better. I'll ask Kiichiro Kat to make this thing a bit safer to use."

Relieved, Bappy nodded and then fell limp from exhaustion in the grip of Jeremiah.

…

As the remaining relatively uninjured Lancers whooped and chased the retreating Morgs, Prince Jon helped Michael out of the gates.

"So you're telling me that the creature just nudged you, and now you can barely walk?" Jon asked.

"It sure did pack a wallop. I'll bet my ribs are quite bruised. That bravado you saw earlier? That was faked."

Finally reaching the recovering Commander and Jeremiah, Prince Jon helped Michael to a stretcher before sitting himself down beside Jeremiah. A physician came around to look at the royal's superficial injuries and applied a cool cloth to his torso.

Seeing the state of the four men, Sir Lachlance walked over and in a lighthearted tone asked, "So Bappy, I heard from your men that you managed to blow a Morg apart. Do tell us how you heroically felled such a beast?"

…

From the stern, Admiral Rose saw the vile creatures being chased away from the fort by the remnants of the Royal Cavalry and the lancers. A hint of a smile spread across her lips as the entire ship's crew began cheering, but there was still work to be done.

"Crew, prepare the ballistae at main deck! Aim for the Morgs! And helmsman bring the ship's bow starboard! Combat divisions to the fore deck, prepare to land!" ordered Admiral Rose.

"Hunters to the bulwarks! Prepare for battle!" announced Princess Amanda as well.

With the coast appearing, the ships were brought to bear and all the ballistae on each of the three ships swung to the right.

"Fire at will!"

The coast was suddenly peppered with mammoth arrows as the machines of war launched the cruel, iron - tipped missiles. The Morgs stopped on their heels as the brethren in front were taken down with ease by the massive arrows. Those that hesitated from running were cut down by the cavalry. As the remaining Morgs prepared to face them they were surprised by the Hunters and the Navy's combat divisions.

While the other men were exchanging their stories, Prince Jon looked out to the banks of the Longbrow Canal where the ships had decimated their enemies. "400 Morgs lead by an abomination and defeating them took a fifth of our fleet, a couple hundred elite fighters and some of the most skilled warriors in the known world. How will we ever win this?"

…

Exhausted from battle, Admiral Rose and Princess Amanda walked towards the command tent that was placed in the middle of Fort Courage. They both heard the resounding laughter and banter that came from within.

Seeing the two women, the guards propped up the tent's opening and let them in. Inside, Bappy was displaying one of his old conquests while the Prince, Jeremiah and Sir Lachlance sat around a table drinking ale while Michael lay propped up on a cot. They were convulsing with laughter at Bappy's re-enactment.

"Ahem, gentlemen, as much as we would all like to drink ale and jest all day like middle - aged men, we have much more work to do." Interrupted Princess Amanda.

"Well well well, here are the ladies, and my Princess you have quite the tongue!" jeered a half-drunken Jeremiah.

"Perhaps, the Princess is right, I hear from a certain Lady Ysabel in the castle that the great Bear is in fact quite the man to call flaccid!" Admiral Rose mocked as she walked over to Michael as he sat in his cot.

As everyone enjoyed the friendly wordplay and jabs, they were again interrupted by one of Amanda's scouts. "My Lady, my Prince, Captain Aaliana sends an urgent message. She says that Jules, the King of Thieves, has been spotted in the North and that we must hasten our travel back through the Longbrow to the Castle!" announced Huntress Chloe.

Even through his drunken stupor, Jeremiah could see the enormity of the situation. "By the gods, that is the first time that rat has been seen in decades! Brother, he must be up to something. Be wary."

Putting down his jug of ale, Prince Jon stood and nodded at Chloe and said, "I understand, load up the wounded into the two other ships. We must make haste!"


	7. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note:**_

 ** _Hello to all loyal readers, over this Christmas season my co-author Mootheman and I will be taking a break from writing and posting new chapters until January of 2017, but do not despair for Chapter 6 is here!_**

Kiichiro Kat knew "The King of Thieves" as a man of honour and valiance until Jules took the path of the thief. The Senshi warrior wondered why anyone would need the rascal. He has been gone for long enough and not much has changed. The grizzled Senshi huffed in resignation. Glancing at his companions, Amanda and her right hand: Chloe, he continued with the preparation of a journey that could take the most part of the day. Prince Jon cryptically explained that he and Michael would accompany them. Their mission: find the elusive phantom.

Hailing from the eastern steppes of Nihon-ja, Kiichiro Kat had experience with men and women alike who were masters of the art of stealth. He saw them as a backstabbing bunch who would do just about anything at a price. A masterless Senshi warrior, he of all people should know. At any rate, he had dealings with the likes of thieves. Smiling grimly, he knew he would test his skills on the greatest of them all.

Their party was carefully chosen. The two huntresses were expert trackers and so was Michael. As a curious type, Prince Jon wanted to see the "living legend" in person as soon as possible. They could also use some extra muscle but Jeremiah had other plans.

"Brothers, for the last time the kingdom needs me to defend it!" he argued although he knew very well that Aaliana, Bappy and Rose were all perfectly capable of doing so while they were out on their conquest. The Warrior gulped, an unconcealed ball of anxiety rolling down his throat. The Warrior never gulped.

"Is that the only reason?" Prince Jon prodded, a knowing smile spread across his face.

Jeremiah muttered, turning a bright shade of scarlet "Well… I am expecting a visitor who can offer us help. That's all."

"Uh - huh" Michael was beginning to believe there was another reason for his odd interest in not joining them in finding Jules.

Meanwhile, Jon was savouring every second of this. He tried his best to hide a smirk. It wasn't often that the redoubtable Warrior blushed. But he had to be lenient because the situation was, in essence, serious.

"Alright then. Michael, we shall go. And Bappy, please take care of my brother for me. As of now, you have much more experience than he does." and with a wink, he left.

The Gallicans' golden eyebrow shot up as he faced Jeremiah who seemed to want to fall through cracks in the floor.

Rubbing his hands enthusiastically, he said "I guess we can make you bit presentable… if that's possible" Bappy took in his senior's muddy attire and scruffy hair. For once, the smaller man had an excuse to give Jeremiah a superior look which he enjoyed very much.

"Just shut up and get on with it."

…

Apparently, Jules was spotted by one of the huntresses in a tavern within a remote village to the North. The "King of Thieves" specifically stated that he was waiting for the three brothers and had no intention of leaving unless he either wasn't needed or the brothers and their allies somehow died before getting to him.

"You say he knew that we were looking for him?" Jon was impressed. As stated before, Jules worked alone so he assumed that either he personally came to spy on them, which was unlikely, or he used some sort of scrying technique to find out for himself.

Michael said detachedly "You aren't the only one with power, Jon. I think this is it. The Drunken Horse, isn't it?"

Kiichiro Kat scoffed. "The Drunken Horse?" He wasn't quite used to their foreign ways.

"Yes this is the place that Jules chose; the roughest and dirtiest tavern in all of the land. Criminals like to stay here because it is beyond our power to stop them. It's up to the other fiefs. But I'm sure there's nothing in it we can't handle." Chloe answered.

Before they entered, Jon said "Any unnecessary weapons?" The three hunters hid their daggers in their cloaks while their bows and quivers along with Kiichiro Kat's katana and Jon's longsword were wrapped in canvas strapped to their horses

Kiichiro Kat, being the most intimidating yet inconspicuous of the group, entered first with Jon and Michael followed by the huntresses hooded in their cloaks. In these parts, the presence of a woman in a place like this was unheard of. It would only make an already volatile atmosphere even worse.

The burly bartender was accustomed to this environment. He dealt with vagabonds and felons for a living. As long as they offered a source of income, he would let them in. He just had to show who was boss. This group of newcomers were a surprise to him. His eyes flicked from each person; a middle aged Nihon - Jan in his early forties with a severe look; a smaller man of a similar age who seemed to be hiding his face; a teenager, barely eighteen, youth and bashfulness plain in his movement and two cowled figures following behind.

"Anything I can do for you mister?" he said over the ruckus, instantly assuming that the Nihon - Jan was their leader.

The Ronin wore a villager's attire rather than his preferred Senshi armor to avoid any unwanted attention. Fortunately, it seemed to be serving its purpose.

To the bartender's surprise, it was the seemingly timid that stepped forward and spoke. "We've heard there was a person here, Jules or 'The King of Thieves'. We'd like to…"

At the name Jules, everything seemed to quiet down. Prince Jon, realising this, stopped mid sentence. Then the reasonably sober customers backed the party against the counter and moved a little closer - a bit too close. There was something menacing in the gesture.

In a threatening manner, one of them walked up to Jon. "You wanna know where that cheating, two faced, sneak went? He was here all right - said he was waiting for someone. We didn't want him here but there was nothing we could do about it."

Another man spoke up. A deep, pale scar ran down from his forehead to the corner of his mouth. "Damn right." he spat. "That rat would steal from everyone. I say it was proper that those horned creatures took him. Didn't seem to struggle but, who would against those things?"

Jon simply stared "And do you have any idea where they might have taken him?"

The scar - faced customer sneered disdainfully which was quickly replaced by a look of cunning. His eyes glinted deviously; Jon gulped.

"If this information's really valuable, I'll tell ya… for a price." he said as he rubbed his two fingers together in the universal gesture of money.

Relieved, Jon exhaled. For a second, he thought that they might take him as hostage or anything along those lines.

Tossing out two gold coins from his pocket "Well, if you'll tell us."

A shark toothed grin lit up his face "They have an encampment further North. Just follow the road, up through the gorge and straight into the clearing I am warning you though, I wouldn't bother trying."

The group gave their thanks and hurriedly left. Along the way, a particularly drunken customer pulled on Amanda's cloak which revealed her long raven hair and feminine features. A gasp of surprise erupted from everyone within the building. The whole tavern stared in silence.

Amanda herself, being the quickest to react, quickly cuffed the offending patron at the base of his neck and sent him flying towards his friends. All pandemonium broke loose but luckily, the group managed to escape.

As they were riding out on their horses, Jon asked to no one in particular "Why does Jeremiah have to have the easy bit?"

Michael grinned mischievously "You have no idea."

…

"This would have been be so much easier if you would just stop shaking!"

Over the years, Jeremiah has faced many things. Threats natural and supernatural - he has diced with death more times than any man would wish to; his mettle was tried time and time again. But there was nothing that petrified him more in particular than this seemingly terrible prospect. Jeremiah could never get enough of powerful allies especially when times got desperate but their visitor made the mighty Warrior himself shake in his boots.

"Really Jeremiah, you are sixty - one for goodness sake! You've seen centuries worth of battle and this is what scares you?" Bappy asked incredulously.

He threw his hands out, "That's the thing! I'm not used to this. _You_ are! So please, help me!"

Bappy, with his outlandish looks - blonde hair and tall stature was quite a spectacle amongst the female locals. But even so… "I don't know. Even with my experience, she is quite a handful."

The Gallican looked at his handiwork. Apart from a few nicks and scratches from his failed attempts at shaving a jittery man, Jeremiah did not look like he just fought in a battle. The Warrior hated pleasantries so he vehemently insisted that he wore the garb of his trade. At least it was new, Bappy thought to himself. The simple shirt, trousers and boots he donned suited him much better than all the ruffles and flowing cloth that came with a high status. Bappy's handlebar moustache twitched with amusement. The image of his friend waddling in a fragile, miniscule robe was too good to forget.

He couldn't help but give some advice "At any rate, just be your regular, boisterous and ill mannered self. I'm sure she won't mind."

Jeremiah reddened. "Oh, to blazes with being oneself! How can I be myself if this isn't even me?"

Bappy, without a proper answer, could only sigh, "You think you smell ok?"

"I guess."

"Any bruises or marks or anything?"

"No."

As Bappy looked over his old friend, noticing a hint of polished wood in Jeremiah's boot. He asked "Is that your dagger? Looks more like a small sword to me."

"I keep it for good measure." Bappy could only nod and give a sound of understanding.

As if on cue, the click - clack of shoes could be heard in the corridor. The rhythm somehow attracted one's attention without seeming too demanding.

"She's here!" Came Jeremiah in a strangled whisper.

"You think?" Bappy was just as nervous.

"So I heard that a flaccid old bear has gotten into a fight." Lady Ysabel was framed in the doorway. She was practically radiating confidence and elegance that the two men wished they had at the moment. They looked at each other.

"Tie me up, toss me in a cart and take me back to Gallica. I'll happily surrender. Jeremiah, she's all yours." He said as he pushed his most trusted companion towards her.

...

"This is the encampment?" The Northern wind blew and caused Prince Jon's breath to appear as cool mist. The chilly air wasn't the only thing that was making him shiver.

"Yes, apparently so. We are definitely not fighting our way through this." At the exit of the gorge, the Morg encampment layed sprawled across the valley. There must have been at least four - hundred of them and the extra tents only showed that there were more to come.

At least Jon was satisfied, "You warrior types, and your hitting things. Now we can do things the proper way - as diplomats."

Michael couldn't help but scoff.

Everyone felt uneasy for some unknown reason. It was as if they were being watched by some unknown being. That was until Jon looked a bit closer into the encampment. He could just make out a figure standing on a raised platform. It was that of a man and he seemed to be looking at them expectantly.

"Could that be Jules?"

The Hunter peered into the distance. Before, he had the eyes of the hawk but his vision had degraded over the years. Yet he could still make out a lone figure elevated on a platform amongst the sea of Morgs; his instincts confirmed his brother's speculation. The figure was watching them.

"Aye. That is Jules alright. I'd wager he could recognize us from here. Who knows what sort of power he has gained over the decades past."

The group proceeded down the valley without incident. At the entrance, they dismounted and the guards stepped aside for the party. Fearsome looks and snarls were given by the Morgs; but otherwise the welcome was much more hospitable than the band of heroes expected. Eventually, they reached the stage that they assumed would be Jule's grave.

The prisoner was in shackles and he bore signs of past beatings. The warlord Keen of the North was standing behind him; he had an executioner's axe in hand and a naginata was strapped across his back, which chilled Michael to the bone. It was a staff - like weapon, except it had a thin, precise blade on one end which could both hack and stab, except this particular one had nasty barbs protruding out the edges. He had already seen enough of those. Keen had his massive hand planted roughly on the "King of Thieves" shoulder. Other than that, the thief seemed absolutely fine.

Jon had to look twice. "The King of Thieves" seemed like the kind of man you would trust; with that winning smile and quite average stature he'd strike anyone as dependable. But then again, that was probably a part of the reason why he was considered to be the greatest and most skilled at his hobby.

"Greetings friends!" Jules called in a jovial tone. "I see you really do need me, because if you didn't you wouldn't have come! Don't worry, you won't be disappointed." He chuckled as if that realization were the funniest thing in the world.

"Now we are trapped in this predicament. Four hundred or so Morgs between us and freedom. If you survive, then I guess you are somewhat worth helping." Jules said on a more menacing note.

Keen was obviously fed up. Jon assumed that the huge man had to take Jules' observations and remarks for the time that he was their prisoners. Jostling Jules' shoulder, he groaned quite frustratedly "Will this man ever shut up? I've also heard that you Ng's have had a new brother" he directed this at Michael as if he noticed them for the first time.

"They say this new brother is a tactician, a diplomat and not a warrior." He pointed his axe balefully at the young ruler.

"Well that won't work here. This vermin here was an even bigger nuisance to us than you and your little kingdom of Aericanus has been so far. I say you watch what might be your most valuable ally die!"

Jules couldn't help but make a last remark, "I seem to get labelled as a vermin quite often. I wonder why?"

With a roar of rage, Keen swung his axe, aiming to take Jules' head clean of his shoulders.

…

"My little Jerbear, hurt in battle?"

Lady Ysabel held his face in her hands. Bappy took the tactful option and decided to uncomfortably face the corner of the room. The Gallican, at the moment, was the embodiment of awkwardness itself.

It dawned on Jeremiah that he could take advantage of her apparent affection; his chest swelled, "Yes, my dear. But it is nothing. It is the price I have to pay for assuming such an important role."

The sharp ringing noise of a slap could be heard in the palace corridors.

"You old idiot! Do you really think I'd mistake those piddly little scratches for battle wounds? Probably from a pathetic attempt at shaving!"

Her words were as sharp as the razor itself but the man was absolutely smitten. Grunting in an attempt to attract Bappy's attention, he threw a _help me_ Gallican offered none.

That was until Lady Ysabel added, "In fact, I don't think that you can shave at all! I believe it was this second - rate ruffian you call your General that made a great big scuffle over your face."

She said as her words dripped with utter contempt.

Bappy's pale skin flushed with rage. The naturally level - headed commander was used to barbed comments and friendly jibes alike due to his distant ethnicity. However if there was anything that set his blood boiling, it was the discredit of his skills in the art of fashion. Other than his prowess in battle, he took great pride in his sense of flair. The tall foreigner was known to be uncannily chic and stylish in and out of the battlefield.

"Now listen here missy, you may outrank me but I will not stand for the _slander_ that has been spoken by you. Your precious _Jerebear_ here simply wouldn't stay still when I was trying to shave that overgrown bush off him because of how terrified he is of you. You should be happy that at least most of his face is still intact!" He snapped, his rigid finger was pointed under Ysabel's nose.

Spittle from the Gallican's furious tirade landed on the woman's face causing her to take a step back. The other reaction Bappy received was unforeseen. Jeremiah, who at this point, was on nothing short of a berserker's rage grabbed the smaller man by the shirt and lifted him a few inches so that his toes barely skimmed the marble floor.

"I did no such thing." the hulking figure boomed. "I was as calm and composed as I am now. I am the Warrior and the Warrior definitely does not shake!" Jeremiah was quite sensitive about his reputation and he did not want it tainted.

Unexpectedly, Lady Ysabel applauded.

"Yes! That is the Jeremiah I know and love. Not some groveling, cowering wreck. And you too Bappy. Now can we please get on with the real reason why I am here?"

The two men let go of their childish struggle and stared at the woman in amazement. She wouldn't fare too well with a sword or a bow but she effortlessly managed to twist two great men around her little finger with just her words and personality. They stared at each other, realising that there were more than material weapons in this world.

…

Jon watched helplessly as the brutal, double - edged axe homed straight on Jules' neck. Instinctively, he drew his sword but logic and reason told him that the thief was good as dead.

Quicker than thought, Jules shrugged off his chains. The padlocks opened seamlessly and he ducked sideways; the razor sharp axe shaved off mere millimetres of his hair. The "King of Thieves" planted his bare foot onto Keen's solar plexus, following it up with a swift roundhouse kick to the warlord's jaw. His winded adversary collapsed off the platform, stunned by the two expert blows.

"Mate, I'd turn around if I were you." , warned Jules.

The Prince spun, galvanized by his words, to see a Morg, teeth bared, preparing to throw a hatchet. Pivoting, Prince Jon twisted in time for the Morg's hatchet to glide through the air that the Prince's head once occupied. Flicking away his thick woolen coat, Prince Jon revealed a fully armoured left arm that ended with a sinister set of spikes that covered his hand. As the Morg charged towards him, Prince Jon took a few steps forward before delivering a powerful uppercut to the Morg's exposed chin.

Drawing his arm away, blood spurted out uncontrollably as the spikes left a gaping hole where the Morg's chin should have been. Prince Jon unsheathed his auxiliary dagger and slammed it down on the dying Morg's forehead, ending its misery. Pulling it out and sheathing the dagger, Prince Jon nodded a thanks of acknowledgement towards Jules.

"Tell your friends to get up on this platform." Jules commanded.

And so he did, seeing the tactical advantage that it offered. They would have the higher ground. Additionally, the stage was backed up against the encampment borders so an attack from behind would be difficult to coordinate.

Amanda and Michael rained arrows on the ranks while Kiichiro Kat and Prince Jon slowly cut down any Morgs on their way to higher ground. Inevitably, the Morgs began to clamber on as well. Kiichiro Kat joined in on the fray and wielded his katana to deadly effect, the blade slashing blindingly. The slightly curved sword severed their enemy's thickset limbs.

Although he didn't want to admit it, Jon's arm was badly jarred from the collision he had earlier. He found Jules calmly slipping on a satchel, a pair of gauntlets, boots and a dark cloak which seemed to shimmer and confuse the eye. The former prisoner caught the prince staring at him but remained unfazed.

"So you are Jeremiah and Michael's little brother? Well if you are really the great tactician they say you are, then prove it. I can respect that. Here; borrow my satchel. There are items in here that should be of some use." He said as he tossed the object towards the desperate prince.

Jon rifled through its contents. His eyebrow rose as he saw no real weapons, "Coins, a quill, an inkwell, candles, flint, two steel cylinders, kingdom seals, stones, what's this?"

Gingerly, out of the satchel he plucked a pouch that would fit comfortably into his hands. Pulling on the fastening string, it opened and revealed a an incredibly fine, silver powder.

Jules warned, "I wouldn't inhale that."

"Yes, yes I know. This is the fabled substance that puts people to sleep. I've read of it and I tried creating it ever since."

"Very good that you know." said Jules approvingly.

"Actually, I think I might have an idea."

…

Kiichiro Kat alongside Michael, Amanda and Chloe were running out of options. Morgs were baying at them, giving out cries of abuse. The two huntresses, having exhausted their arrows were spinning and slashing with twin daggers. They were perfectly in tune to each others' movements, creating a lethal pincer attack. Michael was a like a bloodlusted wraith, dashing across the platform in an attempt to keep the onslaught back. Kiichiro Kat, seeing that he wasn't needed in the front line, stood back killing anything that passed. This could only last so long.

Five of the creatures managed to break past their first line of defense and challenged Kiichiro Kat. The Nihon - Jan sneered distastefully. These barbarians dared fight him with their superior numbers. Where he was from, that sort of behavior was dishonorable. Ironically, the odds did not daunt him.

The first one attacked. It was massive compared to Kiichiro Kat but he stood his ground. A quick swipe to the neck brought the beast down. Cautiously, the rest advanced. The look in their supposed victim's eye was unnerving. In his homeland, he was known as "Ghost Tiger" for his vicious gaze which could discourage even the most savage of creatures.

Without warning, the rabble leapt at him. He managed to cut two down with a single swing and was forced to retreat. One of them wielded a heavy sword but Kiichiro Kat's expert eye told him that his opposer was unskilled. It made a running thrust which he sidestepped. The attacker, finding no resistance, fell forward. Kiichiro Kat brought his katana down and the Morg lay dead.

The last one, screaming with rage, pinned Kiichiro Kat's shoulders to the floor. He looked into its mouth as the Morg roared with unbridled rage. In exultation, its eyes pierced into the Nihon - jan's knowing it won. The Morg had overpowered its adversary who has slain four of its brethren. Now was the time for revenge. Unexpectedly, a stabbing pain sent spasms down its back and the whole world turned cold as Kiichiro Kat overturned its heavy figure and extracted a retractable blade hidden in his wrist guard.

As the Nihon - jan brushed the dust off, he remembered the Dragon's Breath. After Bappy fired his creation, he knew that operating it was too dangerous for the user. Wisely, he opted to use significantly less of the explosive powder that would propel the shot. Also, he decided that making the barrel longer would make the weapon more accurate but another great idea he had was to mold several iron balls together and attach them to a single chain. The idea was to take down as many foes with one shot. Now would be the perfect time to test it as he had two ready, strapped to his belt.

He pulled the Dragon's Breath out of its holster pointed it at the mass of Morgs below. A bead of sweat rolled from his brow but he ignored it. Even if the missile missed, a loud explosion should discourage them. Before he could pull the trigger, a sturdy hand fell on his arm.

"Your prince has an idea." Jules advised him, "So Prince, what exactly is this contraption that your friend is holding?"

Kiichiro Kat debated whether he should explain the logistics of his invention in the middle of a battle. Both Jon and Jules were adamant so he decided to compromise and give a shortened version.

"This is what I call the "Dragon's breath'. It is capable of effectively firing an iron ball and chain around two hundred metres with usually fatal velocity, although the accurate range, last time I checked, is around twenty."

Jon peered towards the exit of the encampment and the yawning gorge beyond. The gateway was at least fifty metres away.

"You have another one on you right now?" The Nihon - Jan nodded his confirmation, "Well, I'll borrow the one that you have. But make sure you take the iron ball out."

"Guys, we need a little help!" Michael called as numerous Morgs lay dead at their feet. As they spoke, even more were beginning to get on top of the platform. This forced Michael, Amanda and Chloe back.

"Alright, well you two better figure something out. It looks like they need my help." And with that, Jules hefted Keen's fallen executioner's axe and joined in to aid their allies.

Jon watched as the King of Thieves boldly drove the Morgs back, buying them a little time. Meanwhile, Kiichiro Kat managed to extract the shot from the Dragon breath's barrel and presented it to the watching youth.

He snapped back into the present situation, "Pass me the loading stick".

Kiichiro Kat handed him the object used to compact the Dragon's powder into the barrel. Hands shaking, Jon gingerly poured the silvery substance into the pipe and tamped it down.

"Hold your breath, this could seriously backfire!". Jon directed the loaded weapon towards the exit gates.

…

Chloe, ears sharp as a hare's, heard Jon's warning. The huntress sustained shallow cuts to the forearm and thigh but was otherwise alright The others didn't seem to be much better off but then again: most of the Morgs were taking the wrong end of the exchange which was all good and well. However, their present state couldn't have lasted much longer.

A loud blast, followed by a stinging hail of what seemed like dust clouded her vision. On instinct, she held her breath and watched as the Morgs in front of her seemed to collapse in exhaustion. Looking side to side, she saw Amanda and Jules wrap their mouths and noses with rough, linen handkerchiefs and did likewise. She never knew when those things came in handy.

Michael was slower to react and collapsed alongside his adversaries. She shook her head, knowing that his age were beginning to take a toll. Before she could lend a hand, Jules hefted the Hunter like a sack of potatoes and dashed through the haze, stepping over fallen Morgs. The rest of them followed suit.

Running through the strange dust stung her eyes. The Morgs, being quite primitive creatures, couldn't put two and two together to figure out that the reason why the strange substance was putting them to sleep was because they were inhaling it. However, they were intelligent enough to stay outside of the mass where their allies have fallen.

A blade came breathtakingly close to decapitating her. It lost momentum before it could make its mark. The cloud was beginning to disperse which encouraged her to run faster. A human roar resonated out from behind her followed by the clash of metal. Then silence. With a foreboding feeling, Chloe turned back and was met with a terrifying sight.

The blade of Keen's naginata was protruding from Amanda's back, the blood spreading across her mottled green combat tunic. Covered by a rag, the warlord's cruel mouth was masked but his eyes held a look of absolute triumph as he stared at Prince Jon saying that the Prince was next to die.

 *****To be continued in Chapter 7 - January 2017*****

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 ** _I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and is now dreading the next, it took quite a while to craft this cliffhanger masterpiece. So, cheers to all our readers for making it through one of the toughest years yet, see you all back in 2017!_**


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

 **Welcome back loyal readers! I hope everyone is having a great start to 2017! A special shoutout to** **T.L.M and tillybananalover** **for their great reviews of Chronicles.**

Eyes watering, Amanda dashed through the haze; practically dragging Jon by the arm. The protective cloud surrounding them was beginning to dissipate; Amanda ran faster and faster with a new sense of urgency. The Morgs were beginning to become bolder. Every step they took closer to the fleeing group only brought them closer to their demise. It was only a matter time before…

She heard it. A human roar that resonated throughout the clearing. Amanda nearly choked in fear. If she hadn't known any better, it could have been Jeremiah whom the young huntress would have given anything for to have at their side. But no. Unconsciously, she knew that Keen's dazed state could only last so long.

The Prince's arm became unnaturally rigid and he let out a stifled yelp as Keen of the North appeared behind them. With a violent jerk, Amanda put herself between him and the warlord.

Pelts, some fresher than others, from wolves, bears and a dozen other animals Amanda could name hung as trophies on the warlord's massive frame. His large frame could have been mistaken for fat with the sheer thickness of his covering. Finger bones, teeth and claws of what presumably were vanquished warlords and worthy foes decorated the layered necklace that lay upon his barrel of a chest. Amanda felt sick, knowing that hers could go alongside the others.

But what was most frightening, was the warlord's pale, bloodless, pockmarked face. Despite his mouth and nose being covered by a black rag, his eyes burned with the intensity of a predator _challenging_ its prey; knowing it would win. A sense of dread fell over the huntress but for the sake of her friends she would have to face Keen. Alone.

"Jon. Leave. Now," unsheathing daggers, her words were silently delivered but they were crystal clear.

"You know I can't", Jon answered unwaveringly.

Before they could argue, Keen came in, a whirlwind of steel as the blunt end of his naginata threatened to knock the huntress unconscious.

She stepped back, mentally kicking herself for being so stupid.

" _Idiot! We should have stayed with the group and this wouldn't have happened! If only Jules had killed Keen, then we wouldn't be here. Now we could very well die for our mistakes!"_

The warlord reversed the naginata and lunged, the bladed end going straight for her. Amanda parried it with both her daggers and attempted to make a counterattack which failed. Hissing in frustration, Amanda's thoughts opened up to all the possibilities, tears threatening to force their way out.

" _What would my mother say? She'd probably brand me a fool. That would be appropriate. But then, what would happen to my friends if I'm gone? Will they need me? Who will become heiress of the hunt when... no if I die? Will Chloe be up to it? Concentrate! Maybe I can throw my knives at him? But then I'd be defenseless. It's worth a try…_

Interrupting her, Keen struck like a snake with an underarm thrust towards her heart. Amanda tried to deflect it with her daggers. However, the blade's path was set and she only managed to delay her death. The naginata imbedded itself in her midsection.

Amanda placed her hands on the steel shaft in disbelief; she gritted her teeth in the realization that that wasn't even a proper fight. None of her allies present, other than Jules, could have done much better but the frustration that she was defeated so easily, so contemptuously burned much more than the barbed blade in her side. The young huntress choked back a sob. So this would be her grave.

Inevitably, her knees gave way and she could only hear Jon's cries. Ironically, they weren't of fear but they emanated fury and hate for the man that virtually murdered his friend right before his eyes. Amanda stole a look at the Prince as he drew his saxe and threw it underhandedly at Keen, caught unawares.

The iron blade slashed a red mark across the warlord's forehead. Now it was his turn to scream. Frantic hands covered the open gash as dark, red blood oozed down his face. Jon was relentless, as he drew his longsword and pressed the advantage, trying to skewer the warlord. Keen, realizing that retaliation unarmed with his vision impaired from the bleeding decided it was best to flee.

Amanda's sight was dimming, spots danced across her eyes when Jon's concerned face, covered in a linen handkerchief, filled her vision. In spite of their situation, she smiled. The Prince was quite adorable especially when he was anxious even if he had something covering his face. A second person joined Jon. It was Chloe. Her smile widened as she saw her trusted right hand. Her two people she could call best friends were with her and she couldn't have asked for much more.

"It's okay, you won't die," Jon attempted to console her as Chloe rolled the huntress onto her side so that the handle stuck out at a right angle to her body.

"We can't drag you around with a seven-foot-long spear attached to you so we're going to have to pull it out."

Amanda was desperate to scream: _Are you kidding me?! You'll make the bleeding worse not to mention the barbs will cause further damage!_

Jon, sensing her distress, told her "Don't worry, I always do things with a plan."

Amanda had to give it to him. Even if the Morgs were baying at them, only two – dozen meters away, Jon managed to keep calm and composed. When times were the worst, he was at his best. If only he had become a warrior.

"Always?", she croaked.

"Ok, usually," he amended with a smirk.

With some effort, Jon managed to hold Amanda in place while Chloe to extracted the cruel barbed head. Amanda made no noise. As Jon muttered a spell of healing he tied a large bandage around her waist. The spell should have staunched the bleeding somewhat.

And with that, the two picked Amanda up and guided her through the final stretch.

…

Kiichiro Kat was just about to ride in after them. In the fray, he hadn't noticed Jon and Amanda slip behind. Chloe wasn't anywhere to be found either. Only Jules, carrying Michael, and he have made it through the fog but of the other three there was no sign.

A hand fell on his shoulder. Jules was next to the Senshi warrior who shot his most menacing glare at the thief. How dare this lowlife _burglar_ stop him? The Senshi growled.

"I'd save it. Now here they come."

As if on cue, the three did emerge from the disappearing cloud. Kiichiro Kat, noticing Amanda's grave injury forgot to question how Jules knew they'd arrive.

The Senshi instinctively took command, "Alright then. Put Amanda and Michael on their horses and they should follow. Now let's go."

Goading their horses into action, they rode past the gorge exit. The cloud of sleeping substance completely dissipated while Morgs and Keen alike followed in their path, crying for blood. The group needed no second invitation. Kiichiro Kat stayed behind their group and as they passed the gorge exit, he pulled out his second Dragon's Breath and took aim at the boulders which were precariously balanced on the edge. With a mighty crash, the huge boulders were sent tumbling down – blocking off any immediate path.

As they galloped, Keen's curses filled the air threatening to brutally murder them in an excess of manners.

The party trotted heavily across the countryside. Tired, demoralized with one member near death they needed a rest. It was getting dark so they opted to spend the night in "The Drunken Horse" where they found out about Jule's whereabouts previously. It was not only a tavern but the services offered rooms in an inn for exorbitant prices. None of them could care any less.

As they walked into the now familiar surroundings, the customer's eyes turned their heads toward the ragtag bunch. Whispers rose as a few curious glances fell on the girl with a bloody bandage around her waist as well the middle aged man apparently in a deep slumber. Even more resentful glares found their way to the "King of Thieves" who grinned, noting the strong animosity. Despite their obvious hostility, there was something comparable to grudging respect in their stare. He definitely enjoyed his notoriety.

The bartender looked up, surprised to see the group again accompanied by the who they were looking for. He whistled under his breath.

"Back alive I see."

"For some of us, that might not last," replied Jon, gesturing to Amanda.

"Please, three rooms for the night and a doctor." It pained the Prince to leave Amanda to a complete stranger but he did everything he could. He knew very well that a qualified doctor would be of further help to her.

The bartender's eyes widened as he saw the wounded huntress for the first time. So they did run into some trouble, he thought while he noted the visible signs of a fight that he hadn't noticed. He had been focusing on Jon the entire time.

"Alright then." said the bartender in a hurried manner.

"You!" The bartender turned towards a scrawny looking server.

"Get this girl a doctor, the best one, and make it quick." And so the waiter did with a sense of urgency. Jon was relieved. At least the service in this rough, dingy tavern was commendable.

"You can leave the injured girl with us." At this, Jon was reluctant but there was something in the bartender's eyes that told him that he could be trusted.

"Now let me take you to your rooms. Don't worry, you won't be disappointed," said the bartender after Jon paid the full amount in silver and bronze.

…

Jeremiah's hands fumbled over the delicate silverware which he normally used on

formal occasion, his brow furrowing in annoyance as he furiously sawed at a rather large cut of lamb. His animal urge to get a slice of the meat was further fueled by the fact that the dish smelled delicious. A small groan of irritation escaped his lips as the knife slipped and collided with the baked potatoes, catapulting them across the table. Quickly, he replaced them on his plate hoping that no one noticed.

" _Cursed pieces of silverware! I'd make mincemeat out of this thing if I used a real knife. How in the blazes do people even use this?"_

He looked at Lady Ysabel and Commander Bappy. The three were seated around a lavish, wooden dining table; intricate carvings adorned its legs.

Lady Ysabel managed to masterfully chisel the slab of meat as if she were the master carpenter that fashioned the round table itself. A prim hand, carrying a fork, delicately brought the piece of lamb into her waiting mouth. Even Bappy wasn't doing so badly.

Jeremiah threw his hands up and felt the irresistible urge to shout. Weren't they supposed to be discussing their plan of action and how they could utilize Lady Ysabel's distant forces? At least then he wouldn't be so out of place. Normally, Jon would be with them to discuss the finer points of strategy but he was out looking for Jules. Jeremiah would just have to make do.

"Ahem. I think we were here for a reason," he coughed. To his frustration, the two companions remained silent.

"Fine then. I guess I'll have to continue eating. Then we can talk"

Fed up, the Warrior pulled out the knife that he had previously concealed within his boot and went to work with the offending cut of lamb as if it were just butter. He managed to cleave the piece of meat in two but his victory was short lived for the sheer force that he applied cracked his plate in half. With that, Jeremiah threw his hands up.

"You were right," said Bappy nonchalantly, still looking at his plate. "Your small sword did come in handy after all."

Death filled Jeremiah's eyes as he glared daggers at the commander. He was supposed to be helpful! Now it seemed like both the lady and his inferior were toying with him. He was the Warrior! He should have been respected.

"Bappy was right. You are quite hilarious at the dining table. I think I really should visit more often," said Ysabel, barely hiding a smirk.

Jeremiah looked at the two with a deflated look and half asked - half stated "You were watching me this whole time?" recalling that Bappy and Ysabel acted as if they plotted something behind his back.

"Oh don't take it too harshly. You of all people should appreciate a good laugh. I know I do," said Bappy, a playfully wicked light dancing across his blue eyes.

Ysabel added "Besides, a good sense of humor is always good. Especially when the times are at their worst."

The crestfallen Warrior's eyes flicked down at his cracked plate and back at his grinning companions.

"I suppose so because my sides are absolutely split with laughter" said Jeremiah, totally deadpan, although he did see sense in their words of wisdom.

"But this isn't why we are here. Can we talk now?"

Bappy couldn't help one more sally, "Well we're going to have to clean up first."

Once the table was cleared, Jeremiah spread a large map that took up the entire table. It contained the whole land of Aericanus but there were two points of interest. One of them was Castle Aericanus and the other was Lady Ysabel's distant fief to the west, separated by miles and miles of flat farmland and mountainous terrain.

Ysabel stared intently at the map, "I'm assuming that the numbers of your so called _elite fighters_ are relatively unchanged," asked Jeremiah referring to the fearsome cavalry that the Lady had at her disposal.

She nodded as if in a world of her own, "Quite right."

"So since you are out of the way of Ced and Keen's forces, maybe we can…"

Before he could finish Ysabel cut him short, speaking softly "But I'm afraid we are facing more intangible issues. As we speak, I fear for the lives of my subjects. There seems to be something dark, primordial. You know I can sense those things. My men have reported spectres and ghoulish entities - creatures that can't be harmed by earthly weapons, creatures that bring death and decay to the living. The reason why I am making such a fuss is because this can affect you as well and as long as this is a problem without any real solution, we cannot help."

Jeremiah cursed under his breath. It was that damned Reivynn again! He, possibly she, most likely dabbled in the lost arts of dark magic which explained the Morg empowered by the rune of strength. However, Jon should have been able to scry his plans. Who or what was this?

This was why getting Jule's help was so important. Because admittedly, they needed a lot of help and the King of Thieves may be able to supply them with one of the fabled items of power.

"Jeremiah… Jeremiah! Snap out of it!" Lady Ysabel shook his massive shoulders and the Warrior was brought back into reality. He had zoned out.

Bappy chimed in, "Actually, I might have someone who can help. We have someone in the castle, Aaliana Labradoge, who I heard is well versed in these threats. She keeps to herself but rumour has it that she has studied with some of the old Knights Templar."

"Oh really," Jeremiah replied with a whistle. Although he considered the Knights Templar to be quite a corrupt and lucrative order, it was the description "old" that piqued his interest. Legend has it that the original Knights Templar could deal with spirits and supernatural entities alongside a host of other abilities. Now that was much more fascinating than an organization of men who preyed on the weak. Maybe he could learn a thing or two.

"This Aaliana, we are going to have to ask her about her… background?" asked Ysabel.

"Yes, although I'd prefer it if we did so tomorrow afternoon. She is somewhat preoccupied with a group of Morgs and it is best we save it for tomorrow so that she is at her best," replied the confident commander.

With an air of finality that ended the discussion, Ysabel said "Well then it's settled. I'll see you tomorrow," and she walked out of the room as if a great burden had been lifted off her shoulders.

"So, how was it?" Bappy asked Jeremiah, grinning.

"She can hear us, you idiot,"

"I know." His grin widened.


	9. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note:**_

 _ **Hello Loyal Readers! My co-author Mootheman and I have decided that instead of every other week, we may have to pubish every half month due to the work load that we are currently shouldering. Anyway, enjoy Chapter 8!**_

"The girl is strong, but she won't survive the night," said the doctor. All the air was sucked out of the room. No one dared speak. Jon, lightheaded, stared in disbelief. Michael and Kiichiro Kat's faces were like stone. Chloe choked back a sob and abruptly left. She had been told her best friend was going to die. Even Jules had the tact to look away.

"I managed to stitched the wound, but the damage is too severe and the blade that stabbed her appears barbed, as the blade was pulled away the flesh and organs were torn. It was a miracle that she had lived this long. I did everything I could. I am sorry, my lords." continued the diminutive man, shaking his head in defeat yet with a touch of amazement in his voice.

"A miracle indeed," agreed the newly - awoken Hunter; his head down. Not only was she a worthy successor but the Queen of the Hunt's daughter was very dear to him. Amanda was almost like a surrogate child to him.

Jon croaked, "Can we speak with her?"

"I'm afraid not. I gave her a sedative for the pain but you can talk to her after supper, I assure you."

…

Jon stared at his portion of beef stew and bread, too guilty to even take a bite. Everyone else didn't seem to have much of an appetite. Chloe hadn't even attempted to touch her food; her eyes were red and she looked more disheveled than usual. The only person who was interested in eating was that _blasted_ Jules. The "King of Thieves" ravenously consumed the dish as if there was no tomorrow. _How impudent!_

Jules felt a pair of eyes glaring at him. Not that that was uncommon but this particular pair came to his attention as they felt abnormally close. He could almost guess who it was before even looking up.

"It's been a long time since I've eaten anything like this," the "King of Thieves" started.

"I got to keep my strength up. Whether we want to or not is our decision."

Jon was taken aback by his response. He actually knew he was being watched. It seemed inappropriate that he could eat with such gusto after what happened but that wasn't the only cause to Jon's anger. He was present when Keen stabbed Amanda and he felt a sort of survivor's remorse over the fact that he could have saved her. But he reasoned that if he tried, then they'd both be dead. Nevertheless, there was someone else who could have prevented this.

"You should have killed him," said the adolescent Prince out of nowhere, still looking at his half – eaten dish.

Jule's instincts told him that it was he whom Prince Jon was speaking to. He expected some sort of outburst.

"Look mate, I'm sorry for this. I really am and if I knew this would happen..." the apology was obvious in his tone but Jon was driven by forces more powerful than rational thinking.

He replied vehemently, tears threatening to pour. "I saw you up there on that platform with Keen. You could have killed him. Easily. Now Amanda's practically dead. I thought that you were the best of a gang of low, filthy criminals who could kill without a second thought. Now I know you aren't even that."

Jules remained impassive but his eyes bored into Jon's, belittling him. Jules' average features remained normal but his irises were like two burning circles of obsidian staring into his soul, reading his every thought and impulse. He stood over the young Prince, dominating the room.

"I'm a thief, not a cutthroat. I apologize if I did not do as you wished, my Lord. I would have said good luck but you're going to need more than that to defeat Reivynn." said the King of Thieves himself, dripping with sarcasm. And with that, he left the table.

"What's his problem?" Jon got up to follow the angry figure but a hand stopped him.

It was Michael's. "Leave him. He has his reasons. Better you don't meddle with them."

…

Amanda was definitely dying, no question about it. Jon and Chloe let out a little cry when they entered her bedroom. The Heiress of the Hunt was deathly pale and on closer inspection, the lips of the wound on her side had gone green from the infection. The smell of rot and decay emanated from the evil gash. This didn't stop Chloe from grabbing Amanda's hand; it was clammy and cold.

The dying huntress smiled. She was aware that she didn't have much longer but at least whom she could call her two best friends were with her. They had known each other since childhood and they all shared one thing in common – they were born leaders. This brought them all the closer.

"Chloe," Amanda spoke with a sad smile towards her second in command. "I couldn't have asked for anyone better to take my place. But even more, I couldn't have asked for a better friend. All of you in fact," she said acknowledging everyone else in the room. "I couldn't have asked for better friends." Chloe could only sob and crush her friend in a bear hug, tears flowing freely down her face.

"Don't talk like that Amanda!" said Jon, knowing that his words were false.

"It's just, I'm so sorry. I couldn't help. I'm so sorry Amanda. If only Jules had killed Keen," Jon continued. Amanda gently nudged Chloe aside to talk to the Prince.

"He couldn't help it," replied the huntress, resigned to her fate. Jon put it down to the pain, making her groggy and talk nonsense.

"Ask Michael about Jules' past. He should know. And Jon, if you're sorry; win this for us," she requested, grabbing Jon's hand in a surprisingly strong grip.

"Lead us to victory. I hope I didn't sacrifice myself for nothing and I'm sure Jules has something to help. Please. He's a valuable ally," she entreated to him; she sensed Jon's resentment towards the King of Thieves.

At this point, Jon would have done just about anything for her. "I'll try my best," Jon sobbed.

Amanda winced; she shuddered, a wave of pain wracked her entire body. A faint "Thank you" escaped her lips.

It was her last.

…

Jon tossed over his bed in the room at the Drunken Horse. He had spent the last two hours downhearted, trying to sleep. He furiously rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stem the flow of tears. He was supposed to be their leader! The way he sobbed earlier was way out of character and the Prince understood that weakness was easily preyed on. That sort of behavior was unacceptable. He needed to show Jules who was boss and it definitely wouldn't help if he was a crying wreck.

Even so, Jon wasn't sure if he could trust the King of Thieves. The way he shook those chains off then dispatched Keen was nothing short of uncanny. He could have very well escaped by himself in some convoluted fashion or even avoided the whole situation in the first place.

Jules was known to be cunning so what if he knew that Keen would kill on or even more? What if it was all a trap? But then, what would he have to gain if he took part in the slow destruction of the Kingdom of Aericanus? Surely he couldn't bare to watch his countrymen die? Was he even from Aericanus or did he even take part in its relatively recent rise from the soil? Was he even human? However, the big question was the King of Thieves to be trusted?

All these questions whirled in his head so he decided to talk with Michael, in bed right next to him. The Hunter was lying flat, hands on his stomach with his eyes staring straight into the roof.

"Can't sleep?"

"No. After that slumber, I can't get a single second of shut - eye"

There was a thoughtful pause, then Jon asked: "Michael, how can you remain so stoic? Amanda was nearly as much as daughter as I am your surrogate brother."

Jeremiah and Michael were brothers by blood but of course Jon came around their early forties so the two accepted him as a sibling. Still, the huge age gap meant that they were like parents to the adolescent.

"Jon, I have been through something similar although it was much worse. Funnily enough, it was a similar person as well."

Jon, still in his teens, couldn't comprehend what was even worse than a dead friend.

"Much worse? I loved Amanda… like we were siblings of course." The last part was added a bit hastily.

Michael chuckled although there was a sorrowful note to it. "In my relative youth, I lost someone. That someone was Amanda's mother."

Jon looked sidelong, his interest aroused. "How was losing her much worse?"

"You love Amanda," he silenced Jon when he tried to object, "as sister of course. But you see, I was _in_ love with her."

The Prince, being the rational type, found the concept of romantic love at the very least, intriguing. He rolled onto his side, discerning Michael's dim form still in the same position.

"What was it like?" He asked. "What was she like?"

Michael exhaled. "She was like Amanda, except more mature of course. Brave, headstrong - she was also incredibly keen on learning the way of the hunter and insisted that I taught her. I wonder why," Michael mused, reminiscing.

"She had a will of steel and she had a way with people. Maybe that was how she got so many followers for such a short of time." Then, out of the blue, Michael asked,

"Jon, did you find Amanda pretty?"

There was an awkward silence, then he grunted in reply. It sounded like he was saying yes.

"I thought as much. Well her mother, she was positively beautiful. Maybe it's my age but I'm sure Amanda would have been like her."

Jon ignored the fact that if The Queen of the Hunt had a daughter and Michael was not her husband, then he must have faced some sort of competition. He decided to ask a less uncomfortable question.

"How did she… go?"

Michael remained silent.

"Okay. Maybe that wasn't the most appropriate question. Amanda said something about asking you about his past." He didn't dare say the name of whom he was talking about.

"Who's he? Oh, you mean…"

Just then, the angry growl of Kiichiro Kat was audible from the room adjacent to theirs.

The Senshi warrior volunteered to keep watch over Jules in the event that he tried anything. Not that it would work but it gave a false sense of comfort which was sorely needed. Almost immediately after, his growl was followed by the sound of someone charging down the corridor; all goals of stealth were thrown out of the window.

Michael was up immediately with Jon close behind. The Hunter threw the door open to see Jule's cloak streaming after him as he bounded down the stairs. Ominously, the door to his and Kiichiro Kat's room was ajar.

Jon attempted to follow him but Michael grabbed his shoulder. "Leave him. If he doesn't want to be found, then I assure you he won't be. We better check on Kiichiro Kat."

The Prince, slightly chastened at the fact that he totally ignored his friend accompanied Michael into the room, fearing the worst. Luckily they found the Senshi wrapped in his blanket, helplessly squirming on his bed.

Michael undid the knot that held him cocooned within the blanket and Kiichiro Kat spoke.

"The rat bound me up and left. He said he wouldn't if I remained silent but of course I wanted to warn you, so I did. Even if he held a pencil to my throat."

Jon sighed. "Is that all?" The Senshi nodded.

He continued. 'Well, we can tell Chloe about this tomorrow morning. Hopefully, the doctor has prepared Amanda's body so we can go back to the castle."

A figure appeared at the door. It brandished a candle and a large cudgel. The figure was the bartender.

"What's going on? I heard someone running so I came to check." A sense of urgency tinged his tone; this place was infamous for the so called "night - time visits".

Walking towards him, Michael lowered the cudgel which was raised in a defensive position. "Nothing that should concern you. We appreciate your helpfulness but one of us left quite abruptly. There's no point chasing him now."

The bartender's shoulder's relaxed. "Alright then, good night to you." And with that, he left.

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over Jon. This was a very long day. "We might as well get some sleep. We should be travelling back to the castle nonstop tomorrow."

…

Aaliana Labradoge was in her bedroom, cleaning her massive broadsword. She had recently arrived at dawn, from a battle against a unit of Morgs and she had instantly plopped on top of her bed. She slept like a log for the next two hours but her iron discipline ensured that she'd get up to clean her gear.

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to hone out the nicks and scratches from its otherwise razor sharp edge using her whetstone. She paused for a moment, glancing at her armour which was covered with a Morg's blood. Why did these creatures have to be so annoying to kill? Their blood was incredibly viscous so that it couldn't be easily wiped off. When hardened, it formed a tarry substance that had to be painstakingly scraped off armour and weapons alike.

Not only that, but the Morgs were very aggressive, with tough hides and surprisingly strong plate armour. This ensured that a sword would be battle scarred by the end of a proper skirmish with those creatures. At least an average weapon would. But she knew she couldn't use her old gear; it was too risky…

A knock on the door brought her back to the present. It was probably Jeremiah, asking for a report. A whetstone had to be dampened before usage, so drying her hands off with a towel, she opened the door to be greeted by more people than she expected. A woman in her sixties; probably a royal courier or diplomat judging by her demeanor; she was followed by Commander Bappy and a rather smitten Jeremiah both with their preferred weapons at their belts. The courier's actions told the Captain that she expected something from her.

Ignoring the two men, Aaliana asked: "How may I help you?"

Lady Ysabel took in the woman's thickset figure, with arms that looked like they were capable of crushing one's skull. She reminded her of some of the massive locals of Skandia. But unlike them, she seemed to be hiding something and acted a bit more reserved. As a courier and a lover of people, it was in Ysabel's nature to try and find out what that was.

She put her right hand out in greeting: "My name's Ysabel. What's yours?"

"Captain Aaliana. Aaliana Labradoge." The massive woman enveloped the smaller hand in what could have been interpreted as an intimidating gesture.

"Let's sit and talk." And so the four sat down around the utilitarian table within Aaliana's bedroom.

"I've heard that you were trained by some of the old Knight's Templar. Could you kindly elaborate on it?" said Ysabel, beaming a genuine and honest smile.

Normally, Aaliana would that information to herself. The present Knights Templar had many spies. Somehow, she trusted the smaller woman but you could never be too cautious.

"What's it to you?" She countered quite brusquely.

Ysabel remained unfazed. "Okay then. Let me tell you a bit about myself and the current situation."

And with that, she filled Aaliana in on her fief's current situation and how she needed something to counter the supernatural threats that were haunting it. Halfway through, Jeremiah decided to state that he was a close friend to Ysabel which was enough for the Captain to trust her.

"I was trained by the old Knight's Templar and the myths are true. There was such a thing as men and women who fought legendary beasts."

Ysabel leaned in a little closer. "And how's that?"

"Let me show you."

The Captain walked towards her bed, reached under it and she seemingly pulled on a rope that was attached to the bed frame. A large canvas sack fell to the stone floor with a resounding clang and Aaliana presented it to the three curious watchers. She revealed its contents; a massive broadsword and a pair of double bladed axes; a tall, triangular shield and various pieces of a set of armour that was dark grey in hue. All of these were unadorned.

Bappy raised an eyebrow. "Where's the Knight Templar's insignia? Last time I checked, their gear was quite flamboyant. Even for my standards."

Aaliana replied. " The old Knight's Templar weren't ones for ornaments," she said as she brandished the broadsword, feeling the familiar magical energy coursing through her.

"Amongst a few abilities, the metal is resistant to breakage, corrosion, temperature, dark magic and a whole host of other nuisances. It's stronger and sharper than Nihon - Jan steel and most importantly, it can kill the intangible." At this, Ysabel nodded.

"Is that so?" contested Jeremiah as he hefted his massive double - edged battle axe which was attached to his belt in a two handed grip. Wavy patterns on the metal indicated its origins.

Aaliana raised the broadsword in a one - handed grip so that it was at a horizontal position in front of her face.

"Take a swing."

Jeremiah hesitated. He didn't doubt the Captain's strength - she definitely had a lot of it. But he knew very well that even a sword as big as that was not designed to block a battle axe. But her eyes were adamant so he swung half - heartedly. Nevertheless, it was a powerful stroke backed by the Warrior's instinctive power and form. One that many ax men would have to practice countless hours to achieve.

 _CLANG_

The sword didn't budge.

"C'mon Jeremiah. I don't even need to move the blade."

Jeremiah wasn't used to being taunted. Especially when it had something to do with his strength lacking. So the Warrior bore down with his axe, using all of his strength, weight, height and perfect technique to form a destructive strike. Every fibre of his being was determined to knock the sword out of her hand. It was a long time since he tried that hard, as most of his opponents would literally crumple from the sheer force - once they've been cleaved head to toe, that is.

 _CLANG!_

Other than a small movement to counter the devastating blow, her sword remained absolutely still.

The Warrior gave out a grunt of frustration and lashed out in earnest, backhands, forehands, overhead swipes and even thrusts to try and break the unearthly defense. It was an amazing display of decades of fighting experience but Aaliana seemed to match every stroke with minimal effort.

Then the Captain decided that enough was enough. Fast as a snake, she swung the sword. The two weapons collided. Jeremiah used his iron muscles to guide the weapon but Aaliana's strength was like steel. The axe flew, a pinwheel of light, and embedded itself in the thick stone wall.

Bappy and Ysabel stared, dumbfounded. They had never seen the Warrior bested so easily and they didn't think they'd ever see the day. With a mighty heave, Jeremiah pulled his weapon out of the stone and inspected it, grimacing. The axe head was heavily nicked and scratched. Aaliana's blade was absolutely fine.

Jeremiah was unlike the scribes, well versed in the arts of mathematics, but as far as he knew, Aaliana just defied the laws of physics. Every competent warrior knew that you simply couldn't parry an axe swing with a sword. No matter what. Unless…

"That sword - is it magic?"

Aaliana nodded. "The sword, along with the shield and armour increases the perception, endurance and strength of the user greatly."

"So you're saying, that it's just like the potion of strength?" Jeremiah was referring to the concoction which was brewed by their old Druid, Daven, who also doubled as their chef.

"Yes. Without the detrimental effects of course. Here hold it." She said this as she placed the sword in Jeremiah's curious hands."

The Warrior definitely noticed a difference. He felt revitalized by the sword's magical energy. Giving a few experimental swings, he noted that it was light as a feather; even for a perfectly balanced weapon. He lent it to Bappy who at first was reluctant as he was used to the Gallican saber which was more delicate and lightweight than the massive broadsword. But once the weapon was in his hands, the Gallican hefted it as if it were nothing. In turn, he let Ysabel borrow it She had little experience with weapons other than the stiletto yet, even she could wield the massive broadsword with little difficulty.

As Ysabel returned the weapon to Jeremiah who beckoned for it for further inspection, she asked Aaliana: "You said the metal is resistant to temperature. Why?"

Aaliana grinned knowingly: "Then you've obviously never faced the dragons of fire and ice."

Bappy and Ysabel shivered. They've heard of the story where Jeremiah and Michael fought the lindworm - a gargantuan serpentine creature with legs. From description, it was fearsome indeed. But a dragon, a dragon, had wings and could breath fire or ice.

Jeremiah stroked Aaliana's broadsword reverently, looking at the ancient inscriptions engraved on it. He imagined how lethal a trained warrior could be, fully equipped with this sort of gear. "Do you think I can get my hands on one of these? Maybe some armour as well?"

"Well… not now. The secrets to creating this equipment is jealously guarded by the Knight's Templar. They are locked in a vault, guarded by soldiers who are equipped with the magical armor. The only reason why they don't utilize the equipment they already have to gain power is because they are afraid they might lose it and they have no means of reproducing them. As of now, they are trying to decipher the language of the old Knights Templar so that they may find out how to replicate the equipment."

"Oh. Ok." Jeremiah said, disappointed.

Aaliana smiled. "Don't fret. The old Knight's Templar weren't legends only for fancy armor. Some of the better warriors could increase their strength without the weapons. I might be able to teach everyone."

The courier shook her head. Diplomacy was the path for her. But Jeremiah's spirits lifted visibly. Commander Bappy leaned in a little closer.

"Really?" they both asked in unison.

"Yes. But it won't be easy. I can promise you that. Actually, it is said that the most powerful of Knights Templar could conjure weapons and armour out of pure magical energy. They were even stronger than the ones that I'm using now."

Lady Ysabel asked the obvious question: "Can you do this?"

"Unfortunately not but I can assure you that I can still be of help. There weren't many members of the old Knight's Templar so we had our ways of turning the odds in our favour."

The courier bit back her curiosity. Something in Aaliana's voice told her she wasn't going to find out how the Captain planned on evening out the odds until they got to their fief.

"So it all set? We're travelling to my fief tomorrow?"

"Yes. Bappy should come along. I need a commander I know and trust… no offense to your commanders."

Ysabel raised her hand in a carefree gesture: "None taken."

Both Ysabel and Aaliana stood to shake hands, confirming the deal, but before they could do so; someone hastily knocked on the door. The visitor opened it before any of them told him to come in. It was Michael. The look on his face told them that he was bearing bad news as he singled Jeremiah out, looking him straight in the eye.

The Hunter put it bluntly. "Amanda's dead."

Jeremiah stood, throwing his seat back. Aaliana gasped in complete shock, repulsed by the news. Both of them were quite fond of her. Bappy and Ysabel decided to leave the room to leave the brothers to talk.

"How could that happen?"

"It was Keen. Amanda sacrificed herself to save Jon."

Jeremiah had a deeply instilled hate for the warlord. All Keen and Ced had been was a thorn in their side - two very big thorns. The Warrior's face darkened.

"He was there?"

Michael nodded confirmation.

"Well at least you found Jules?"

"No. He left overnight when we were at an inn."

Jeremiah, face like a thundercloud, thought this would be a fruitful day but it was quite the contrary. The Heiress of the Hunt was dead but he could deal with that. This was war so a few casualties were expected. But Jules could have been the key to their problems and now he was gone too.

Aaliana who had been listening intently asked, "Tell me. So how did this all happen?"

Michael filled the both in on the multiple accounts of the people in the party. From his, to Jon's, to Kiichiro Kat's and to Chloe, he told the story from each of their perspectives. All four spectators listened intently, their faces blank.

"Where are the three right now?" Jeremiah was referring to Michael's companions.

Fingering one of his daggers, inspecting the well - crafted weapon, he said "They're down at the eating hall." He couldn't look his brother in the eye. If the Hunter hadn't fallen victim to the sleeping powder, the results of their expedition might have been less damning. In Michael's mind, it was mostly his fault that Amanda was murdered.

"They expect that we talk in the meeting room in about an hour - plan our next move. Everyone is invited," Michael continued, gesturing to Ysabel.


	10. Chapter 9

Heads pointing towards the center of the table, the atmosphere was somber. Nobody was obliged to speak. A vacant gap filled the space between Chloe, blank as ever, and Lady Ysabel. An unfamiliar visitor was also sitting, arms crossed, at the table: Daven, their chef who also doubled as their druid. The reports coming from Ysabel's fief intrigued him or so he said.

Daven hailed from parts unknown, accepted into Aericanus after appearing at one of the border outposts and helping a party of knights. His skill with alchemy and elixirs allowed the knights to deter a plague of locusts. Surprisingly, Daven refused any sort of payment but accepted an offer to become the druid of the nearby fief of Wolfcreek. In mere weeks, the druid became well-known for his scrumptious buffets and was 'borrowed' by the kitchen of Castle Aericanus.

While the druid himself calmly swept his eyes across the table, Michael and Jeremiah silently willed each other to start the discussion - anything to break the deafening silence. Their younger brother was enclosed in his own personal world. Finally, Jeremiah croaked.

"Allies. I am glad to see you today." His words grew in confidence. "Unfortunately, we have had our losses but this is war and nothing less is expected."

Coughing, Michael flicked his head towards Chloe's expressionless body slumped next to the empty chair, covered in a white sheet.

"Ahh… Er… Umm…" Jeremiah amended, "I apologize that we have to talk at such a dire hour but Jules is not with us. Not only that but Jon has no way of scrying Reivynn of the Raven's plans. In other words, we are clueless as to what to do next."

Lady Ysabel hissed inaudibly. She hoped the hearsay wasn't true but a small part of her knew that wasn't so. The soldiers and their subjects desperately clung to the incredible power of the Ng brothers. Knowing that their leader had his limits would be devastating to their morale.

"On a lighter note, Captain Labrador has accepted Lady Ysabel's offer to share her knowledge on the Knight's Templar," Jeremiah continued. "There still is hope for their ways hold immense power."

At the mention of a new prospect, the grave atmosphere brightened an inch - no further. Reivynn of the Raven was said time and time again to hold untold power; a great deal more than any being at this time and age had any right to have.

Jeremiah then proceeded with filling the others in on their discoveries and how he planned to use it to their advantage. Raiding the Knights Templar's vaults for the secrets they so jealously coveted was an option, a far - fetched one at the least.

"Commander Bappy, Captain Aaliana, Daven and I will set out for Swanford Fief at first light tomorrow." Jeremiah looked down, flexing his meaty hand. "I'd like to see the full extent of this new magic. And apparently, Daven wishes to do some research on these supernatural occurrences."

Chloe rose, indignant fury drawing every line of her body, challenging the hulking Warrior. Chloe, the new Heiress of the Hunt, growled:

"With all due respect Jeremiah," venom dripped from every word. Jon was taken aback by Chloe's unexpected behavior. Genial as his massive brother could be, few people would dare to talk back to him, much less rebuke him so spitefully.

The huntress was relentless. "While you, the captain, the commander and that old geezer are going gallivanting to who knows where, what are we supposed to do?"

Her voice shook with emotion, planting everyone on their seats. "My mistress, my friend, died to save the Prince and so that we could bring Jules back. We shouldn't let her life go to waste. I say we look for Jules because he could very well be the only person who could help us."

Jon was furious. How could Chloe speak this way? Has she forgotten that it was Jules' fault that Amanda was dead? He stood, ready to meet her verbal onslaught. If she wanted a fight, she had it.

"Don't you dare speak of him like that! You know very well that Jules could have killed Keen, _easily_ , and none of this would have happened."

Chloe's lethal stare silenced the Prince. Pointing her finger, she cleaved an invisible path towards the Hunter. "Michael, you of all people should know the King of Thieves and why he's like that. Explain it to the Prince."

Michael was taken aback as if those words carried some physical force. So Chloe has heard of the stories. The only other person who knew about them was Amanda's mother. His throat bobbed. All of this couldn't be his fault… could it? He understood that his past actions would come back to haunt him…

All heads turned as the mirror on the wall began to vibrate gently. Someone wished to communicate with them through it. Jon had no doubts that Jules was perfectly capable of doing so but what if this was Reivynn? Did he come to gloat at their apparent defeat? To what purpose?

Apprehensive, Jon walked up to the pulsating object and tapped it softly. The unassuming features of the King of Thieves appeared on the mirror. He was holding a map of Aericanus, with an "X" marked to the North - east of the castle, soundlessly mouthing the words "Meet me here."

 _So he didn't contact them to apologize. The nerve…_

Jon yelled, the pained cry escaped his lips as his fist struck the smooth glass. Spiderweb - cracks spread across the crystalline surface. Biting his lip, Jon retracted his arm, cradling his bleeding knuckles but he felt no pain. Only the sight of his blood deterred him.

In an instant, Jon was on the wall, winded, the back of his head brushing on the cracked glass. Sucking in huge gulps of air, he stared into the maddened, red eyes of the slight huntress before him. He winced as her calloused fingers dug through his linen shirt.

"You idiot!" Chloe spat. "He doesn't want to be here so he decided. What do you think an entire kingdom would say if we escorted the King of Thieves himself into it?"

Jon, having regained his breath was too numbed to even argue. He had to think rationally and Chloe definitely wasn't helping. He shrugged her off, moving towards the door to go up to his chambers. What she didn't understand was that he felt their loss more deeply than she could understand. Or could she?

…

Prince Jon lay spread - eagled on his bed, like a log. When was the last time he moved? Flexing his wounded fingers, his knuckles throbbed. Maybe he should get that bandaged and properly disinfected sometime soon. He merely washed it, too indifferent to staunch the bleeding with his simple healing magic.

Groaning, he tilted his head to the right, facing the entrance to his balcony which overlooked the distant mountain ranges. Judging by where the sun was, he had been in the same position for the past two hours. He didn't plan on changing that anytime soon.

Previously, his blood boiled at the sight of Jules. How dare he? Over the time he spent sulking, he began to wonder. What were his motives? If he really didn't care about Amanda or any of his friends, why should he contact them? But for the life of him, he couldn't think of the answer. He knew too little about the King of Thieves. Only one sentence was embedded in his otherwise quicksilver brain and it chilled him to the bone:

 _I'm a thief, not a cutthroat._ What could Jules mean by that?

A knock on the door which was slightly ajar. Jon had been too dazed to even bother to close it, and plus he knew there were guards too. It was Michael.

"Hey, brother."

Jon snorted. He was in the mood to argue. "We aren't really brothers, you know."

Inwardly, Michael sagged with relief. At least he was in the mood to talk.

"In fact, you're old enough to be my father."

Michael sighed, smiled, and sat at the foot of Jon's bed. "I know. I remember that time you came." Michael looked out the verandah, reminiscing.

"Jeremiah and I were in our mid-forties when the Kingdom of Aericanus truly came afoot. We were looking out this very balcony, at our kingdom, debating whether we should explore those mountains," he said referring to the mountain range that Jon was recently observing.

"A ranger by the name of Will Treaty and his spouse, Alyss, from the kingdom of Araluen came to visit. We thought they were spies. We were about to imprison them until they mentioned that Treeno the All Seeing sent them. And he gave them you, to bring to us. He said that you would help build a great empire and expel the evil that has been plaguing us. The once-human sorcerer: Reivynn."

He looked sidelong at the young man who could have been his surrogate son. Michael chuckled lightly.

"Jeremiah and I were mortified at the prospect. I mean, what would our court think if the legendary Warrior and the Hunter had to take care of a baby?"

"Of course, you telling me this isn't the reason why you're here?"

Michael bit his lip. His brother was getting a bit too testy for his liking. It would have been easier for both of them if he had started the topic, properly explaining himself. But he was committed.

"For the sake of this kingdom, I'll tell you something that Jeremiah and I have agreed never to speak of as the reception of this knowledge would be quite… varied. It's a large part of how the Kingdom of Aericanus came to be."

At this, Jon sat up. He knew Aericanus' relatively brief history like the back of his hand. He understood every single detail - how every member in his court and others contributed to make what Aericanus was now and each of their backstories. Except for three. One of them, being Aaliana, didn't really concern him. Another being the enigmatic chef/druid, Daven, asides from his otherworldly cooking he was not quite as important to the Prince.

The captain always looked like she had something to hide but as long as she was loyal, he didn't mind.

However, Jules' past was unknown. Surely the fabled "King of Thieves" had to have some significance - especially when he was so notorious in their lands. Prince Jon's older brothers have definitely been hiding something from him. Before Michael even spoke, he had a pretty good idea of what he was going to tell him.

"Jeremiah and I in our early twenties came across a village where we met Jules. He was a street performer, a magician - a master of sleight of hand. We didn't expect him to be hiding another talent."

"We were running low on money so we decided to earn some by fighting in the pits in one of the seedier taverns of the village. There we found him: Jules who was there for the same reason as we were. The man was an absolute natural. He nearly beat Jeremiah into the dust with basic training. After that, we had a laugh and he asked us if we could teach him a few tricks. We offered that he joined us in our conquest and so he did."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "That part, you already told me."

"I'm getting to it. Just listen"

"There are only a handful of people we've known who could match or come even close to Jeremiah in the arts of the warrior."

The Hunter raised his forefinger. "The first one, you met recently, was Keen. Second was Stig Olafson, Skandia's present Maktig. Right now, he's far past his prime but he did give Jeremiah a run for his money in the earlier years.

"Right, and Olafson said that a certain _Thorn Hookyhand_ could have beaten Jeremiah in his prime as well," added Michael; his features twitching in amusement.

"The last and undoubtedly the greatest out of all of them was Jules - the King of Thieves. As you saw yesterday, Keen didn't put up much of a fight against him."

To Michael's dismay, Jon's face darkened visibly. It was short - lived as the look was replaced with deep thinking and reluctant curiosity.

"Wasn't there another person who could beat Jeremiah? You know, the nameless champion of Aericanus. The man who fought on behalf of all our soldiers. The man who would end battles before they even started..."

Michael grinned. Understanding dawned on Jon's eyes.

"Jules. He was the champion?"

Michael nodded and resumed the story.

"Of course, when Jules joined us, Jeremiah taught him the finer points of battle because he thought he had found a prodigy - and he did. Jules would fight on Jeremiah's behalf, to gain power and respect, saying that whoever challenged them had to go through him first before fighting us, your brothers. Of course, Jules really was the better fighter but he was content with that. Your brother was more than capable of fighting his own battles, but Jules was a natural performer so his victories were far more dazzling and impressive.

Okay. So Jules had been their champion. But Jon thought: Why was Michael telling him this? How did he become a so-called "thief" in the first place?

As if he read Jon's thoughts, Michael answered his questions.

"Jules asked me if I could teach him the ways of the hunter - stealth and such. Of course, I obliged."

 _I'm a thief, not a cutthroat._ Those words rang true in Jon's head. The memory of Jules saying them was crystal clear - the obvious hurt; the restrained killing rage; his calloused hand gripping the steak knife almost as if he could effortlessly end Jon's life at that very moment. Almost.

"Jules: He doesn't kill, does he? Not anymore at least."

Not a question. More like a statement. Jon knew and loathed the feeling of ending someone's life intimately. Once was one too many times for anyone. Even in self-defense.

Raising his eyebrow, Michael complimented him. "You're quite the smart one aren't you? Well yes, he vowed never to kill a human again. I can't blame him. At least the battlefield demonizes the people you fight against. But knowing your opponent, seeing their face and realizing that they too probably have a life they are fighting for and that you are going to take that from them. I really can't blame him. He'd wake up in cold sweats saying he sees the faces of those he killed in duels."

A new voice turned Jon and Michael's heads. Jeremiah's large figure leaned on the doorframe. His typically spirited attitude was now somber.

"Jon, before your brother rambles on, I'll get to the point. Why we didn't want to tell you or anyone about this was because first, some would consider Jules to be nothing short of a monstrosity. It's only natural him being the greatest thief. The second reason is that we made him what he is. In a way, it's our fault that Amanda's… gone and we were afraid what you'd think about us exploiting him."

The young prince was taken aback.

"No, no, no, no." He started, shaking his head, eyes wide.

"You've got it all wrong. I can't possibly hold you responsible for any of this."

For the first time in days, Jon's spirits lifted considerably. The smiles on his brother's faces were genuine. But that didn't fully answer one last question that Jon didn't necessarily want to know the answer to.

"Why are you telling me this?"

For once, it was Jeremiah who spoke over the Hunter. His voice was filled with steel; his expression built on conviction.

"Michael and I have decided. We'd like you to meet Jules at the point he designated. He may be the only person who can give us a chance at saving the kingdom and I'm sure he knows that."

And that was what finally convinced Jon. The fact that both the Warrior and the Hunter, two men that he would call polar opposites, fully agreed on something like this was tremendous.

Jon gave off a tired smile. "Alright. It's a good thing I've memorized the location on the map. Gather my guardsmen. We will meet him at daybreak.

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **Hello there loyal readers and newcomers, I hope all of you continue to follow the adventures of the Aericanus Heroes. My co-author, Mootheman and I will continue to churn out chapters, we will try to release new chapters more often.**_

 _ **THANKS, Strider2901**_


	11. Chapter 10

Jeremiah, Aaliana, Bappy, Ysabel, Kiichiro Kat and Daven were on their way to Swanford fief. At the last minute, the Senshi chose to join them and at any rate, someone who was familiar with the anvil and forge was welcome to Aaliana. It was always a possibility to try and replicate or even improve the Templar's gear.

To the Warrior, the beautiful countryside went unnoticed as his nose was buried deep in on one of the many hidden books of the Knights Templar's lore and legends. It was the harvest season so the fields would usually have been abundant with crops. However a disease has ravaged the farmland leaving the fields of wheat and orchards of orange dead and withered. The ground surrounding the orange trees were scattered with the dead fruit; they were speckled with a sickly greyish - green hue.

Fortunately, Jeremiah wasn't concentrating on this sight. He absolutely adored the popular delicacy of citrus.

Aaliana took the lead, stoic as ever. She was a daunting figure, impressive nonetheless, even with her nondescript traveller's shield and the huge broadsword hung onto her back, accompanied by the unstrung longbow and its quiver which belied her true profession. A bulky sack filled with the legendary Templar's armor clanked at her horse's side.

The sun had already begun to set and fortunately, a village had become visible. It was always welcome to enjoy a hot meal within the safe haven of a crowded area. A fire would have been too risky out in the open and with such a prestigious group of people, lighting a cooking fire would be welcoming capture for ransom.

After a hot dinner over a muted atmosphere, the party went to their respective rooms within the inn. Aaliana and Ysabel slept in one room while Bappy and Jeremiah stayed in the one neighbouring them. The grizzled Senshi then opted to stay with Daven.

…

Jeremiah of the Bear had plenty of dealings with the dark. This was no exception. People say that there is a sixth sense, intuition, and that it should never be ignored. It could be said that his senses were screaming at him to wake up.

Jeremiah rolled quicker than thought, catapulting, himself off the side of the bed and collided with an unnaturally cold body. That small realisation was good enough for him. As he spun, he raised his elbow in a vicious strike which slammed into the intruder's snout with a resounding _crunch_. Whirling to his feet, he seized the Morg's slender arm which gripped a dagger, poised, to deal the killing blow. The familiar sound of steel scraping on wool was audible as Bappy had his sword in one hand, already drawn, with a lit candle on the other.

Had this been the average Morg, even the mighty Warrior himself would have struggled subduing it. This Morg was different. It shared the same feral features but its horns were shorter as if it were those of a billy goat rather than a ram. As he held the creature against the wall, Jeremiah noted the lean muscle within a wiry frame. The beast was covered in dappled, grey cloth and daggers criss - crossed its body within a multitude of sheaths. Both Jeremiah and Bappy have dealt with this type of soldier before: an assassin. But never in this bestial form.

The Warrior was practically nose to nose with this new breed of Morg - close enough to smell the stink of its fetid breath.

"What are you doing here?"

The beast snorted in derision with some difficulty. Black, tarry blood sprayed from its broken snout onto Jeremiah's nightgown.

"I have underestimated you, but no matter. You're still here and another of your enemies approach. They will raze this village to ash and fire and it will be your doing!"

With a heave, Jeremiah tossed the Morg right at Bappy's waiting sabre.

"You go warn Aaliana and Ysabel. I'll call Daven and Kiichiro Kat. Tell them to get ready for a fight."

"There is no need. We heard what happened"

The rest of their group stood at the door, now open. All of them were fully armed except Aaliana who promptly continued.

"I checked the stables. That Morg you just killed probably hid my Templar's armor but I can sense it so I can join you soon enough. Just take the fight outside of the village and into the forest and be extra careful. I can feel something malevolent, dangerous."

Daven was silent for the majority of the journey so it was a surprise when he spoke up.

"That's a good idea but we should stop by the inn's kitchen first."

All of the warrior types in the group stared at the druid in confusion so Ysabel broke the silence.

"I second that notion."

Aaliana relented. "Alright but make it quick."

So the two dashed down the inn stairs while Jeremiah and Bappy suited up. Ysabel and Daven bumped innkeeper who was in his nightgown and looked less than pleased.

"What is all of this racket?"

The courier grabbed the man by the front of his nightgown and commanded him:

"Warn the village to lock their doors and stay inside. We're under attack and we will try our best to help."

And without another word, the two gone into the kitchen.

Ysabel and Daven instantly went to the spices cupboard. They both went for the salt and pepper. While Ysabel stuffed her breeches' pockets full of them, Daven added the condiments in a grinding bowl with some fresh chilis which he ground with a pestle. The exotic fruit made his eyes water but he continued. The resulting paste was red and black in colour and it practically exuded a stinging air. And with that, the druid picked out three small kitchen knives.

The courier looked at the little knives doubtfully.

"I'm sure those little toothpicks won't be able to harm those monsters."

Daven grinned mischievously. "I know. But it will sure hurt like a bastard if I added this onto them," he said as he used a spoon to coat the blades with the chili - salt and pepper paste he just produced.

"What in the blazes are you doing in my kitchen?!" A candle lit the innkeeper's face which was red with fury. It didn't help that he carried an intimidating blackwood club in his other hand.

A massive form loomed over the furious innkeeper; an ominous shadow was cast over his rigid form.

Turning, the innkeeper screamed and dropped his club. Jeremiah, hefting his razor sharp battleaxe, filled the doorway behind him. The axe-head glinted menacingly in the candlelight. It didn't help that three other fierce - looking individuals were piled behind him.

"Don't worry. We'll pay for it. You'd better lock yourself in here nice and safe. Things could get messy."

And without another word, the party left.

The chill night air came as a shock and everyone felt it. A cold, dead hand stroked each of their spines. Powerful dark magic was at hand. Aaliana had sprinted down the main street to find her Templar's gear. Within the heat of the moment, Jeremiah had totally forgotten about Ysabel. He couldn't possibly put the courier in harm's way.

"Ysabel, get back inside. Aaliana's just going to find her armor and we're going to lead the fight into the forest."

"You old dolt! I can take care of myself," Ysabel retorted.

Jeremiah knew it was futile. It would only anger her further if he mentioned the fact that she was less capable as a warrior. Before he could make up his mind, the Morgs arrived.

There were at least fifteen of them - some of the biggest and most brutish that any of them could have seen. They must have been the alphas, the elite. An assortment of swords and spears bristled from the ragged line that they composed, a ragged line that slowly and cautiously advanced towards the tight group of humans. But they weren't the cause of the chills. It was the robed figure behind them.

Like a wraith, it casually strolled past the Morgs. No. Glide was a more accurate term as the humanoid lacked a gait. Its smooth, confident steps belied the power and experience of an immortal. Death emanated from it, leaving a blackened trail in its wake.

"Jeremiah of the Bear." Its voice was deep, ancient, timeless.

"I've heard a lot about you. Legend has it that you are no ordinary human."

Jeremiah stared the creature in the eyes - if he could call them that. They were two orbs of pure white, sunken deep into grey - blue flesh. The skin radiated like moonlight on green swamp water over its hollow cheekbones. Its long, thick hair glowed silver.

"You're Reivynn, I assume?"

The entity snorted, a condescending gesture. "No. Not even close but I still have more than enough power to destroy you."

Without turning, it called out to the Morgs behind it: "Kill the Gallican and the Nihon - jan and capture the lady as well as the old man. The Warrior is mine. When we're done, we'll find the last known Knight's Templar. They are a plague that needs to be destroyed."

With that, the wraith surged forward, too fast for even Jeremiah to properly react.

…

Aaliana could sense it. Every suit of Templar's armor was magically crafted and forged specifically for the user and their abilities. One could say that a Templar had a natural affinity towards their gear.

Her instincts lead her towards a farmhouse on the outskirts of the village. The building was larger than the average settling which intrigued her as to why her armor would be hidden there. Kicking the double doors down, she scanned the large, dark room. Runes and symbols, covered the floor which bathed it in an unnatural purple. The Captain knew better than to step on it.

And there it was, the sack of her armor, weapons and all, dangling on the main beam which held the roof up. At the center of the room, unharmed by the violet miasma, was a Morg not unlike the one Jeremiah and Bappy faced in their room. However this one exuded confidence.

Aaliana had no choice. She vaulted and hung onto the doorframe. Planting her foot on the top of one of the open doors, she leapt and clung onto the main beam and pulled herself up. All the Morg had to do was bound on top of the beam in a single jump. Without a word, it drew a rapier. Light and balanced, it was the perfect weapon for this situation. All Aaliana had was her dagger.

"I see you aren't one for words?" The creature remained still, oblivious to her trap.

The Captain shrugged. _It was worth a try._ Assuming the Iberian dueling position, she lunged.

…

Jeremiah could only bring his axe up before sparks flew. The resulting force threw him a few meters back. His mouth was agape in disbelief. Did that creature just attack him with its hand? Five jagged lines on his axe's face confirmed it.

The wraith inspected its fingers with distaste. The grey flesh was torn but was already healing rapidly.

"That's a strong weapon. If it had been normal, I would have shattered it."

For once in a very long time, Jeremiah felt truly afraid of death. That "strong weapon" was Nihon - Jan steel of the highest quality. It was stronger than any non - magical weapon known to man. He doubted he'd be conscious or even alive if it had scored a direct hit. Yet he had to try. His friends were counting on him. If this new evil was left to run rampant within the kingdom, who other than Aaliana could stop it? Even that wasn't guaranteed. Not to mention that there were probably many more of these spirits running amok.

For once in a very long time, the Warrior's vision turned red. It had been decades but he remembered the feeling. More strength and fighting prowess coursed through him than any human had a right to have. He was Jeremiah of the Bear and some skeleton in a robe wasn't going to stop him. Even the mage looked surprised.

"My turn."

For once in a very long time, Jeremiah of the Bear felt truly alive.

…

"Get behind us," growled the Senshi warrior. He and Bappy took on a defensive stance, blocking the doorway to the inn. This way, the Morgs could only attack them a few at a time.

"And make sure none of them get behind us." Bappy nodded his head towards the back door, leading to the stables. which the Morgs could use to flank them.

Ysabel and Daven watched as the two expert fighters efficiently repelled and killed the beasts which were now beginning to filter in. Ysabel noticed that there were three who decided to go around the house. She could guess why they would do so.

"Daven. Get ready. I saw three coming up behind us."

The druid nodded, confirming he understood. He drew the three knives coated in paste while Ysabel scooped as much salt and pepper from her breech pockets as she could.

The Morgs burst in like a hurricane but the courier was ready. She hurled the salt right at their bestial faces. The salt got in their eyes while the pepper stung their sensitive nostrils. The Morg in the lead was too preoccupied to notice the stiletto slip into its throat.

Ysabel hissed in frustration. Her distraction was too successful as she only managed to kill one and graze the neck of the other, leaving her open to a counter - attack. The Morgs rushed forward, only to be met by two spinning knives which found their way into the chinks of their armor. The intended effect was instant. The two creatures screamed in pain as the chili oil and salt burned into their wounds. Ysabel quickly dispatched them in their torment.

Meanwhile, Bappy and Kiichiro Kat managed to kill the last of their opponents. Their eyes widened as they noticed the three dead Morgs, throats bleeding, on the ground. Apparently, all it took were two kitchen knives meant for slicing vegetables and a small, slender stiletto to defeat the three savage beasts.

Ysabel was the first one to speak.

"We have to find Jeremiah. I'm afraid he might be going through much worse."

…

The beam shook. Rapier and dagger clashed as both opponents fought for the ascendancy. Aaliana swayed precariously on the beam but she had done worse. Admittedly, the Morg was good although the adept fencers of Iberion were better.

They lunged back and forth, trading blows, testing each other's resolve. Although Aaliana had the advantage of strength, it meant little on such a treacherous battle ground. Aaliana thrust and hacked, trying to get into her enemy's guard. The Morg was beginning to give ground as the Captain was practically dancing and spinning on the beam, raining down brutal blows.

Even so, the Morg was equally light - footed… waiting… waiting. Fast as a viper, the rapier flew and slashed Aaliana's side. She stumbled in surprise. She was overconfident and now she'd pay for it.

On one hand, she managed to hang on to the beam. She gasped as the purple mist burned the soles of her boots. Knowing it won, the Morg strolled with leisure. The rapier was pointed at her in mock salute. One last chance.

Aaliana gritted her teeth and summoned all of her reserves for what could be her end or saving grace. The dagger, still in her hand, glowed golden. The shimmering light seemed to repel the purple vapour. Her wound began to close. The Captain heaved herself up again with little effort. Grunting, she stomped; the earth itself seemed to shake.

"This is only a fraction of the true power of a Knight's Templar."

The Morg teetered on the brink that was all she needed. With renewed energy, she darted forward and hacked its blade in half; what was left of it resembled a molten candlestick. Aaliana drove the dagger into the Morg's chest. Lifeless, it collapsed on the floor below.

Aaliana nearly joined the beast in its grave as she was drained from that burst of magic. However, she managed to stay on and stagger towards her gear which lay at the other end of the building.

As she put the armor on, she felt the integrated magic within it renewing her. She needed practice. Some of the greater Templars could create whole suits of armor with that golden energy. All she could do was empower her dagger. Nonetheless, her gear would suffice.

Nimble as a cat, she leapt off the beam and into the purple mist, unharmed. Now it was time to help the others.

…

"You are strong, human. I've forgotten what it's like to fight with any sort of effort."

Jeremiah stood, bloody but far from broken, his axe scarred beyond recognition. He had put up a decent fight yet he was still mortal. Apparently this creature was a mage, risen from the time of the ancients.

"Your aura is different. Any ordinary human would have begun to rot just by being this close to me but you seem to be still standing." The mage chuckled menacingly.

"That won't stop me."

An invisible wall of energy crashed into the Warrior, throwing him back a few metres. A quick inspection told him that a few ribs were fractured. The mage stretched his arm out and Jeremiah began to glow. Tendrils of light seemed to be ripped out of him, travelling towards the spectre's waiting fingers. Jeremiah screamed. His massive pain threshold meant nothing. It was as if his entire soul and being was being ripped violently from its shell. The mage raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

"A golden aura? I haven't seen that in a long time. It is a shame that I have to destroy you before your power is ripe for the taking."

Bappy charged, saber raised. Jeremiah was in too much pain to warn him. Black mist swirled and engulfed the Gallican who recoiled, choking on the deathly haze.

A loud blast filled the air: Dragon's Breath. The iron projectile simply made the mage lurch a few feet forward. Before Kiichiro Kat could reload the weapon, a concussive wave of energy knocked him unconscious.

"Is this your court? Are these the people that helped you build the mighty kingdom of Aericanus? How pathetic. Consider it a favor that I end your miserable existence."

The Warrior's vision was dimming. Could this be it? At this point, Jeremiah's fate was sealed. He was prepared to die like this a thousand more times if it meant that his friends would be safe and alive. But alas, the gods only gave him one. All he could ask for is that he bought Aaliana enough time to find her armor. He began to feel light, too light, but when the Captain arrived, eyes aflame, he wasn't scared anymore.

…

The handle of Aaliana's axe groaned as she took in the sight of the man who gave her a second chance have his life - force and soul effectively torn from his body. Nobody deserved that death. Nobody. But there still was time to save him. She just had to act quickly.

Just as the last of the golden light left Jeremiah's lifeless body, Aaliana's axe flew and severed the mage's outstretched arm. It bellowed with all the volume and strength of a thousand voices - Aaliana swore she could hear Jeremiah's in the blood curdling wail. The entity would pay for that.

The mage raised his forearm, now a charred stump. It did not heal. Slowly, it turned blazing, hateful eyes to where the axe came from. It was Aaliana, in full Templar's armour, wielding her sword and shield. A quiver was strapped across her waist and her longbow was strung. She was ready for battle. The metal plates were dull grey, but the exposed leather was engraved with protective runes burning gold contradicted its typical nature. What the mage was facing now, was a Knight's Templar, the bane of so called "darkness".

A jet of black fire erupted from the mage's remaining hand. But, Aaliana's shield was there to stop it's fiery wrath. As the flame collided with the shield, it seemed to expand downwards and outwards to its flanks. She crouched and jammed the shield's sharp bottom into the dirt ground, forming an impenetrable wall against the incoming flames. Having memorised the mage's position, Aaliana sidestepped, drew an arrow and let it loose with her longbow.

The arrow traced a streak of gold and impaled the spectre's shoulder. Seeing her chance, the Captain snatched her shield up, now shrunken, and charged.

It had been decades since the spectre felt true pain. Gritting its teeth, he snapped the shaft protruding from his shoulder.

Aaliana came in like a whirlwind, moving with a wraith - like agility that matched her opponent's. The mage launched a volley of concussive blasts which were blocked by the Captain's shield. The effect was minimal. Aaliana rammed the shield into the spectre's ribs and before it could retreat, she impaled it with her broadsword.

Slowly, the green glow emanating from the mage began to weaken until what was left was grey flesh, wasted away. He was too weak to struggle.

Aaliana spoke, her face so close to the mage's that he could feel her breath, hot in his face: "It never pays to let your guard down, now does it?"

The mage could only stare, seething. The human was right. He had gotten complacent and now, he was bested by her. The mage began to disintegrate until all was left was from its core: a radiant ball of liquid, green crystal. A single streak of gold darted within it frantically as if it wanted to escape. Eventually, it dissipated but that little bit of gold remained and returned to Jeremiah's inanimate body.

…

It was like a dream. Could this be the afterlife? It certainly was a possibility as Jeremiah strolled through the woodland village of Stagheart. In fact, his home wasn't too far from here but he must have been here for a reason. As usual, there was the normal bustle of activity. Children were running, playing games, and workers would be busy with their craft. He passed a tavern, noticing that the seat where the jongleur would usually stay and perform was empty. Yet everything seemed to be clearer, brighter than normal. Either he was dreaming or he was dead because this place had been burned to the ground.

He kept on walking until he found the place he'd been looking for. It was one of the smaller cottages and a sign hung from its entrance: the crude shape of an arrow. This was the residence of a fletcher. Jeremiah knew this place well enough. He'd stop by here quite often as a certain brother of his loved to spend time inside. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. Despite that, he had a pretty good idea of where its occupant was.

He continued into the forest and kept on walking until he could hear a lyre. Within a clearing was a boy and a girl, both in their teen years. They were seated on the grass, backs turned towards Jeremiah but something about them was oddly familiar. He froze. Could he be intruding? However, his curiosity got the best of him. It didn't help that the music was so captivating.

The boy's singing voice was high and angelic, as if the gods themselves had bestowed that gift. The way his fingers moved over the lyre was borderline hypnotic, as if they were made of silk rather than clumsy flesh and bone. Jeremiah could watch them all day.

The girl was no different, she too seemed to be enthralled by his playing. Then there was that error: a minor slip of the fingers. The mistake was miniscule but it sounded out ugly and deformed within the masterpiece. Jeremiah almost cried out in protest but the girl merely giggled and turned towards the boy; the back of his neck was bright red.

"Lance, you should really practice more often," she smirked. Her voice was unique, like birdsong.

 _No. This couldn't be,_ Jeremiah thought to himself.

And as the girl twisted her torso towards Lance, she noticed a large figure out of the corner of her eye. She screamed. Lance bolted up in an instant and stood in between the two.

Jeremiah nearly lost his balance. Without a doubt, this was the afterlife because these two people whom he knew very well were supposed to be dead. Before him was Lance, the famed minstrel, with Adara: Queen of the Hunt and the love of Michael's life.


	12. Chapter 11

Jon woke up with an agonizing headache. Groaning, he tried to raise his head but quickly let it drop back on the hard, wooden floor. The effort was too much; bile crept up his throat. Might as well let it settle down for a few moments so he could catch his breath. What happened?

He recalled the chase, the bandits. He'd been a fool not to accept Michael's help. All the young Prince wished was to see Jules alone. Now he was sitting in some house, a ransom most likely over his head. Gradually, his strength returned and he managed to get up into a sitting position. Head in hands, he recalled how he got here.

He was sitting comfortably in his camp - a clearing, concealed by a vast plain of tall grass. A little fire left dancing images in his vision. It was the ninth hour, moonlight washed over the landscape. Apart from the grass rustling with the wind, Jon sensed a more unnatural movement within it.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he drew the knife at his side closer into his cloak. With careful hands, he inspected the pot of coffee in front of him. Satisfied that it was boiling, he noted the position of his horse, the exact sequence of actions he'd have to make a quick getaway. Jon was ready.

Jon spoke, a pause in the silent dark. "I know you're out there. No use surprising me."

From behind the tall grass, a cloaked rider melted from the shadows. Two other shadows on horseback loomed behind him, lined by moonlight.

The rider in front of him was obviously their leader. Jon noted, with some interest, the black tattoo on his shaven head: the mark of a slave. It was an illegal trade but that made its products all the more valuable. The bandit's past did not appear to break his arrogant nature. As expected, he spoke with a rough, foreign accent.

"My, my. If it isn't the ruler of Aericanus himself? I've only seen you on paintings but sure enough, it's you. You'll make quite a sum."

The bandit and his horse stood in between Jon and his intended path of escape. That wasn't a problem. Just as he planned, he grabbed the pot of coffee and swung it towards the rider. Without a second thought, he shot up, vaulted onto his horse and galloped through the path, once again

Looking back, Jon thanked his lucky stars that his steed was trained to act like a Ranger's. It didn't need to be tied to a tree so a getaway was simple.

As he galloped off, he could still hear the man grunting in frustration. He only had a few seconds head start as the ex - slave's horse, now riderless, dashed forward and startled the others behind him. But now they were in hot pursuit. Jon recalled the path that he took towards the nearest village. The bandits wouldn't dare follow him there so that was they way he took.

The village was in sight, but something stopped him. Treeno the All - Seeing had once said that he and his brothers were now connected. They weren't bound by blood alone; their fates were intertwined. He felt it - a stab to the heart, almost as if he was dying. It was enough to send him flying off his horse.

He had visions. A rider Jon presumed to be the one who fell off his horse hoisted him onto the saddle and he blacked out.

Now he was here.

Exhaling, Jon steeled himself. One of his brothers may be dead or in trouble but it wouldn't do them much good if he was locked in here. He took in his surroundings. It didn't look much like a prison. A nice and cozy bed took the corner with a bookshelf right next to it, containing some of the rarest titles. He would steal a few of them if he really had to escape. Light filtered through a circular window on the wall, exposing a beautiful woodland view. Judging by it, he was on a second floor. It was as if the bandits wanted him to have a good stay. Except his tunic and trousers stunk of vomit and he was lying beside the bed, not on it.

Another scent, more enticing than the first, filled his nostrils. Was that bacon? His stomach growled. Grunting with the effort, he stood up and tested the door. It was unlocked.

That was definitely bacon frying. He followed the delicious aroma but was met by a man with his back turned. He turned around.

"Welcome, Jon, to my abode. Fit for a king, isn't it?"

…

"What in the bloody heck happened?" asked the dazed Warrior.

Jeremiah gradually came to his senses just as Bappy, Kiichiro Kat, Daven and Ysabel mobbed their old friend. Aaliana merely stood by, wiping her blade. Most of them had the same question.

Kiichiro Kat, a man of logic, looked even more confused. Meanwhile, Jeremiah grunted as Bappy and Ysabel settled for tackling him in a bear hug.

"A golden aura. I should've known."

All eyes turned to Aaliana, still making a show of cleaning her sword.

"Normally, an aura would be green but there is one in million, maybe even a tens or hundreds of millions, which is golden."

Jeremiah was revitalized by the epiphany to the point that he managed to shrug his friends off. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have a natural ability for a Templar's preferred method of magic. As I said, some of the greatest could make entire suits of armour out of this power. The last recorded human with a golden aura was the first King of Templars and he could battle with ancients. No wonder you have managed to survive the mage and the lindworm."

This sparked a new interest in the Warrior's heart. Could he really be that powerful? Is that what the mage meant? But there was another obvious question that bothered him.

"How did I come back?"

Something tightened in the Captain's features. Clearly, she didn't like what she was talking about, yet something in her eyes hardened.

"You see, an aura is another word for the life force that acts as a binder for the soul and the body. They can't coexist without it. The mage took yours so your soul moved on to wherever a soul goes when it leaves the body. However, this form of death is unnatural because your body or mind was in no way harmed, due to the twisted nature of dark magic. So when I killed the mage, your aura returned to you and it was strong enough to pull your soul back," explained the Captain, slowly and deliberately.

"If I had been a bit later, your body may have degraded or have been damaged so it would have been impossible for your soul to return as it had gone through fatal harm. But I wasn't too late and now you're back."

At this, Jeremiah puffed up his chest. "So you're saying that in a way, I beat death?"

Bappy snorted, "The minstrels are going to sing songs of how the brave Jeremiah of the Bear lay dead until Aaliana, the beautiful damsel, gave him the true love's kiss."

Unseen by all, the courier's jaw slightly twitched. It was accompanied with a discreet eyebrow raise.

Aaliana chose to ignore the humor in his quip. "I killed the mage, and since your death was unnatural, your life force allowed you to live. Tell me, what did you see?"

There Jeremiah was, back in the clearing by Stagheart. He remembered the last thing Adara said before he was pulled back to the world of mortals:

"Don't tell anyone you ever saw us. Especially Michael."

Jeremiah wasn't entirely sure why Adara wouldn't want anybody to know about the afterlife: Michael most of all. It could leave his level-headed brother obsessed but that was impossible. The Warrior knew Michael better than anyone else. He was too practical. Before he could answer, Kiichiro Kat, ever the stone, plainly announced: "We've got company."

As they were speaking, the entire village gradually trickled out of their homes at seeing the threat eliminated. Now they were gawking at the rather unusual sight of the victors.

The innkeeper who seemed to be their unofficial leader stepped forward, arms spread in a peacemaking gesture.

"We appreciate your help but you should go. Also, Jensen's farmhouse is filled with some purple mist," he said, referring to a rather indignant farmer whose hand was badly burnt.

Aaliana apologized. "I'll fix that. When I'm done, we go on to Swanford."

…

"When I scryed your position, I decided to track you down and take you to our meeting place. It wouldn't do if you were hurt or killed by my traps along the way."

"Your traps?" Jon blurted, more than a little agitated at the fact that he would have entered Jule's forest in the morning.

"Yes. My traps. Anyway, when you ran off, I stole the bandit's horse and followed you three. Then it was a simple matter of fighting off two seasoned criminals both on horseback with nothing more than a stick."

All of this was explained by Jules, through a mouthful of bacon. He continued.

"I brought you back and along the way, you vomited, so I decided to leave you on the floor."

Jon continued to chew on his food thoughtfully. It was elementary for Jules dispatch his foes with a mere piece of wood. As far as he knew, most bandits carried sabers and clubs. The King of Thieves was really living up to his name, except…

"Where's all your…", Jon floundered helplessly, waving his hands in an unsure gesture. Finally, he managed to blurt:

"Treasure?"

"You think that because I'm a thief, I have a hoard?" Jon's mouth remained open, unable to comment. Jules chuckled.

"You're right. I do have one but it's not in my living space. I'm planning to take you there, but get cleaned first."

After a long - awaited bath, Jules took the Prince to the kitchen. He then proceeded to remove three wooden planks from the floor. If Jules hadn't done that, Jon would never have expected a thing. They fit perfectly over a trapdoor which acted as an entrance to a stairway that led underground. Within it was an unlit torch hanging on the wall which the King of Thieves took and lit, to illuminate their path.

As they descended, Jules explained.

"As I know it, you need power to counteract Reivynn's and to figure out what he plans to do."

Jon nodded.

"I have come across scriptures of the relic just for you. But it isn't Reivynn who we should be worried about - yet. I learned that they're just using his name to instill fear. Apparently, he is some dark sorcerer, waiting to be awoken. Maybe even somewhat demonic. Nothing we can't handle." The King of Thieves said this casually, over his shoulder.

Their conversation was punctuated by the pitter - patter of their feet on the stone steps.

"So is this all a bluff?", Jon asked, incredulous.

"No. I've heard that there are three people, you've met one of them already, who are trying to awaken him. Luckily, I've also found out that the relic I am going to show you is very potent. It was a weapon made to deal with ancients."

"Wait. You said I met one of those people?"

Jules bit his lip; his facial muscles tensed. "Yes. That would be Keen."

The name hung in between them like a rotting corpse. Except to Jon, the Warlord wasn't responsible for it. Amanda's death was still fresh with him so he still felt the need to be wary; Jules could be plotting something yet he didn't have much choice but to be allies with him. With a massive effort, he forced his simmering feelings down.

"Who are the other two?"

Jules blinked, oddly relieved, and continued. "The second one is Ced, a brother in arms to Keen. We've dealt with him before. He is sort of like your brother - the Hunter." They must have been deep underground as Jules' breath appeared as a translucent mist.

"The third is currently unknown so you'd better be careful. The biggest threat may be right under your nose," Jules warned.

" _Or it could be staring me in the eye, right now." ,_ thought the young Prince.

Finally, the two reached a rectangular door of oak that supposedly led into Jule's stash. The only sign of any sort of protection were the rusted iron strips which horizontally lined its wooden frame. Jon raised his eyebrows. It seemed that the iron strips were chiseled with random curves and symbols. At the top of the door was faded sigil of a crown encircled with thorns.

"I take it that the knowledge, artifacts and treasure in here are highly coveted. I'm surprised only a wooden door protects it and that sigil?"

"Well yes. To the people who try to get this treasure, even the strongest doors in the world won't make a difference to them. That's why I rely on only myself and inconspicuousness to defend it."

Jon interrupted him, "How about that sigil?"

"It's a, uh... touchy subject. When I was much younger and much more ignorant to magic, I found that door, and I opened it. Little did I know, that sigil is an ancient curse based off a prehistoric religion, long dead by now. When I opened the door, I was cursed. End of story"

His curiosity temporarily sated, Jon pushed the door open. The sight that filled his eyes made them open even wider, yet there it was. A simple desk and chair was put aside, sitting on a cobbled floor. Next to it was a bookshelf, containing thick, bound books and scrolls. That didn't fool the Prince. Centuries of information must have been kept hidden in those texts. A bulky chest was lain to the side, presumably containing Jule's plunder and savings. The simplicity of it all baffled the Prince more than any cavern, filled to the brim with gold and jewelry.

With the torch, he lit those bolted to the wall. A rich warm glow filled the room to reveal the garb of Jule's trade: a dark grey tunic, padded with boiled, blackened leather. A mottled, blue - black cloak hung over the attire, cowl raised. But what really caught Jon's eyes where the two heavy suits of armour beside it, covered in indecipherable runes: Templar's armour.

Jon turned to Jules, who had selected a gauntlet from his table.

He asked: "Where did you get those?", referring to the two suits of armor.

The King of Thieves picked an open book from his desk and presented it to the Prince. The open pages beheld different runes of power and protection. On closer inspection, the text had a red cross on its cover, signifying it was the Knights Templar's.

"Two idiots in that armour were looking for this book. I have tried replicating the runes on their armor," he explained, as he presented the gauntlet. "I've tried carving them on this, but you need something to activate them."

Reverently, Jon took the piece of craftsmanship from Jule's hands and traced the lines down each skillfully carved symbol.

"How did you beat both of them?"

"Granted, they were strong but that didn't save them from being stupid. Enhanced strength doesn't help much if you're stuck in a hole. Both of them, I put to sleep with the sleeping powder we used when we escaped from, you know..."

Jules forced a smirk, quickly changing the topic. "I doubt they were very surprised when they woke up in their undergarments at the edge of my forest."

"Uh - huh. I doubt that was a very good image."

"Anyway," continued the King of Thieves as he drew a scroll from the shelf, "here is what I've been meaning to show you."

"The Kindle of Fire."

"It's a scroll, within a scroll," remarked the dubious Prince.

It was as represented on the brown paper: a golden scroll, rolled up to fit into a metal tube which could be slung across the back.

"It's not just any scroll. Read the poem," said Jules, pointing at the verses written in cursive to the side. "It still reveals enough information for us to use, despite being damaged."

 _Centuries back, in the time of old,_

 _An age ruled by monsters, preying on men,_

 _A weapon was forged, one of fire and gold,_

 _One to win battles, to never fight again,_

 _A scroll of flame, the eagle's eye,_

 _The mastery of arts, arcane,_

 _To view the battlefield from the sky,_

 _A human's champion, a creature's bane_

True to Jule's word, the first half of the next three stanzas were missing, having apparently fallen victim to the test of time, the brown edges left brittle and moldy. While the first two stanzas left a lot to be inferred, the rest, at first sight, was virtually useless.

 _age at hand,_

 _were near,_

 _a final stand,_

 _enge did appear,_

 _the outcast, unwanted,_

' _ve seen the void,_

 _figure undaunted,_

 _was banished, destroyed,_

 _last dying breath,_

 _Citadel, guarded and bound,_

 _matched only by Death,_

Written in larger text, a few spaces down, were the words:

 _With the greatest mind of all can the Kindle be found_

Once Jon finished the poem, he looked at Jules, expecting some explanation for the cryptic text and the part that was torn. He had a pretty good idea of the Kindle and its whereabouts just by reading the poem but he needed a second opinion.

"The Kindle was definitely a weapon of long ago, made to give the user an eagle's eye of the battlefield, in order to offer whoever's looking at it a major tactical advantage over their enemy. Apparently, it also bestows a certain level of magical ability and control over fire. Not bad, isn't it?"

The Prince remained cynical. "It's impressive, all I can really tell from the half - stanzas is that it may have started a new age for humans. But how will that help me figure out whatever they're planning?"

"What do you mean?" asked the King of Thieves, hands spread out in a happy - go - lucky gesture. "I've told you already that they're trying to summon Reivynn one way or another. With the Kindle, we can crush their attempts."

What Jules was saying made sense. Jon was an exceptional tactician at such a young age. The ability to see the battlefield, his battlefield, from above was almost overkill - with the mastery of fire to boot. Yet, the sheer sense of enigma their enemies exuded was unsettling. He needed everything he could get.

"I have to say Jules, you know how to get someone's interest."

The King of Thieves replied, eyes bright. "Fantastic. We can go tell the others after supper."

The smile on Jules' face almost made Jon change his mind.

 **Glossary:**

Aura = an aura is another word for the life force that acts as a binder for the soul and the body.


	13. Chapter 12

_**Author's Note: I apologize very deeply to all our fans due to our extended absence. My co-author, Mootheman and I have been hard at work finishing GCSE's. Anyway, here is Chapter 12.**_

Jeremiah's wounds ached due to the constant up and down motion of his horse which was definitely not helping. That battle with the mage jarred him. A golden aura? The only thing it helped him to do was die slower - and die he did. Admittedly, it bought them enough time for Aaliana to arrive, but it would have been nice if he just killed the mage himself.

Adara's words gnawed at him. _Don't tell anyone you ever saw us. Especially Michael._ Maybe the afterlife remained hidden to mortals for a reason. Jeremiah knew Michael better than anyone other than, perhaps, the Queen of the Hunt. Michael loved her. He could very well still be. On second thought, there was good reason why the afterlife remained hidden.

Yet, it felt like he was betraying his blood brother. No secrets. That was their code. From life in a cabin in the woods to a kingdom risen from ruin, that has stayed true. For all his power, Jeremiah has never felt more helpless.

"Jeremiah, would you like to contact Michael?" It was as if Daven read his mind.

He turned towards the old druid. The Warrior could only see sympathy in his face. Daven was one of the few people who knew that he and his brothers shared a special connection, ever since Jon came. Michael was probably affected when Jeremiah _moved on._

"Your brother must be worried sick," he said, holding out a small pocket mirror. "Would you like me to try scrying him for you?"

Jeremiah shrugged. "Why not?" Usually, they'd carry a small pocket mirror around in case Jon tried to scry them so it was likely that Michael would answer.

The little mirror in Daven's hand began to glow. A good sign. The party began to crowd around the mirror and, soon, Michael's exhausted face began to materialise on its glossy surface. His dark eyes widened in concern when he beheld his bloodied brother.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Well, it's complicated," he struggled to find the right words. "I'd have to ask you what happened?"

"I don't know how you people remain so sociable," Michael declared, wearily shaking his head. "Take care of a kingdom, go to meetings, lectures, fight the occasional battle. Those Morgs attacked a nearby fief. Good thing we arrived on time or it would have been theirs."

Nodding, the corners of Jeremiah's mouth went up. The movement pained him, but one had to smile once in awhile. "You never were the one for social interactions, were you?"

At least Michael had the will, or common sense, to return the expression. He replied, "No. I'm not."

Michael didn't even have to ask. His brother outlayed the past events in surprising bluntness: the fight with the dark mage especially.

"You… died," more a question than a statement. "By dark magic and then you came back?"

Before Jeremiah could answer, he continued, "I don't know how to react. What did you see?"

Jeremiah merely looked on, dubious, half expecting Michael to be making fun of him. He seemed to sense that. The Hunter stuttered, "No, really. I felt that stab to the heart. Woke me up, it did."

Now Jeremiah really wished that Michael had been joking. _No secrets._ Those two words repeated themselves in his head, over and over again.

"Go on Jeremiah. You can tell your brother." It was Daven. He'd always been a father figure to him, ever since his village, Stagheart… Now he'd have to remember it, just for his brother.

"I was at our home. Our real home." Jeremiah's throat bobbed. To him, a burning village was an inconvenience, a nuisance. But Stagheart was where they've grown.

"It was just like before. Everything was in its place," Jeremiah continued. "The only thing missing… was us."

His sibling's eyes began to gleam. There was something Jeremiah was keeping from him. Something very important. He could guess but he wanted to hear it from his brother.

His voice went lethally calm, the Hunter before a kill. "What else did you see?" he drawled.

Jeremiah held his stare and failed miserably. Michael's look pierced through that polished crystal and pinned him to the spot. If he was in the right, then why did he feel so guilty?

"It was nothing," he finally managed to mumble.

Michael growled, "We both know you're a terrible liar. Just tell me the truth."

The Warrior glanced at his friends, surrounding him. They all refused to speak.

"Remember Jeremiah, no secrets."

No secrets. Just two... damned... words. Fine. If Michael wanted an answer, he could very well have it. At this point, Jeremiah didn't care.

"I saw Adara," he replied, with equal force. "She was with the Minstrel, Lance..."

Those watching went dead silent. They all knew about the Huntress and the Minstrel, and what that meant to the Hunter. They were struck speechless, except Michael himself.

"I'm glad to know she's happy." was all he whispered.

He never should have doubted Michael. He was far too level headed. Now they'd just let bygones be bygones.

"Michael, we're almost at Swanford. We'll contact Jon when we get there." And with that, the mirror dimmed.

Bappy, ever the good friend, laid a gentle hand on Jeremiah's shoulder. "You see. It was nice getting that off your chest." Kiichiro Kat grunted in agreement.

Turning in his saddle, Jeremiah said: "Thanks, Daven, for the suggestion." The gratitude was genuine. With her back turned, Aaliana scowled.

"Think nothing of it. The pleasure was all mine," he corrected, with a sense of satisfaction.

The party stopped their chat as they took in the sight of destruction. What was once a proud market village, was now nothing more than ash and ruin. A brutal trench carved its way through the cobblestone of the village centre; it left the well, their only source of water for miles, a pile of rubble. The mage and his small cohort were here.

Little by little, the surviving villagers began to notice the newcomers. Jeremiah watched as boys and girls, no older than fifteen, hefted their makeshift weapons. Fifteen, for goodness sake. Desperation shone in their eyes for this would be a fight they'd lose. Amongst them were the few men who survived, who escaped, who surrendered. Jeremiah couldn't blame them for running.

The gap was obvious. Nevertheless, Aaliana managed to exclaim to the remaining people:

"We mean no harm. We travel under the banner of Aericanus Royalty. We can help you if you wish."

"Screw those pompous bastards. What good did the rulers of Aericanus do for us in the first place?" came a slow, sneering growl.

Everyone turned as a man in his mid - forties stepped forward. He lifted a soldier's sword like he had done for decades. His scarred, pockmarked, face bore years of battle, hair and eyes were gray beyond his years. From the looks of him, he served in the army, and was now retired.

"Where were you when that monster destroyed our homes?" Jeremiah narrowed his eyebrows. He'd dealt with plenty of blusterers in his time. This man was different. His moves were deliberate, his words delivered with ice - cold precision. This man was a warrior of the mind and the body.

The villagers began to group behind him, emboldened by his stand. "Lady Ysabel, where were your forces when we needed them?", an anonymous voice called.

The Lady's face was blank, unreadable. Only Jeremiah saw beyond the façade. She was rearing to object, and he wasn't too far behind her. But these people were angered beyond reason. No point in provoking them. Jeremiah could see how this could lead to a fight. One where there were no winners - only survivors.

"I say we take matters into our own hands. Damn the lot of them!"

A cold sensation settled over the Warrior. Only the people's hollow cries echoed through the chilling haze. He turned his eyes towards his axe, now scarred and broken, the weapon he used to forge his kingdom. Symbols had power, so it hurt all the more when he realized that the axe reflected the state of their land. Nothing stung so much as the realization that the tools he were so proficient with, were useless in reconstruction. All he felt now was dazed, numb.

A rock, cast by one of the villagers, clipped Jeremiah's forehead. It added to one of the many wounds he suffered from. Yet only Bappy's voice reached him.

"Let's go. We have no purpose here."

And so they left. Only after a few minutes of riding, did Jeremiah feel the need to speak.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he murmured.

…

Before Jeremiah could see the small, bright figure that was Swanford, he knew they were near. All the famine, decay and rot they passed were simply the aftershocks. This was the epicentre. The putrid stink of fruits and vegetables they have gotten so used to was absent. All fields were barren, as if any attempts to grow anything were abandoned.

Only starved farm animals were left: cows, pigs and sheep. Their carcasses littered the land, each a source brimming with disease. Some of the owners were in the process of burying them. Yet, they began to trickle from their farmhouses and work to greet their lady. Ysabel was a popular figure amongst her fiefdom.

Aaliana and Jeremiah were beginning to fidget in their saddles as the commoners scrutinized their foreign appearance. In contrast, the two foreigners were accustomed to this sort of treatment and attended to their own matters. The courier merely smiled and acknowledged her subjects.

"These people have come to help," she told them. Her words were followed by cheers and cries of thanks.

Jeremiah had to look away and wipe his eyes as Ysabel turned a knowing grin at him. At least here, he was wanted.

And there it was: Swanford castle. The Warrior had to admire how tactical, yet majestic the work of art was. He remembered that just decades ago, it was a mere ruin on a shallow hill, with a natural river meandering around it.

Now it was one of the more dazzling castles in their realm - the perfect blend between function and grace. Green ivy from another age scaled the bright, polished parapets. Each brick was lined with solid marble, a common rock in the area. Ysabel had no plans on letting the immaculate resource come to waste. The result was impressive; Swanford seemed to shimmer in the midday sun.

Yet Jeremiah knew that it would all change when night comes.

…

"Sometimes, I wonder why they even bother posting us here," mused one of the sentries standing at the gates of Swanford. He scanned the yellowing grass of the fief's once luscious plains.

The man posted next to him, Henry, rolled his eyes and gave him a sidewards glance. He'd been through this more than once.

"It's a matter of pride, you know," he explained. "Lady Ysabel would never leave her castle unguarded."

A quick sweep of the arm brought Henry's attention back to the dying landscape. "I know, Malcolm, but who the blazes would want to take over this wreck of a fief?" He sounded equally exasperated. "Why make men like us stand out here, in the sun, for what looks like a lost cause?"

Malcolm exhaled deeply. He couldn't blame his younger colleague for his behaviour. Clearly, Henry was new to what was happening in Swanford fief. It was just like this with every other new recruit, drafted from the nearby barracks. _Here we go again._

Suddenly, the older sentry took on an animated stance, turning towards his partner.

"There are stories of creatures, more beast than human, except they can wield weapons. Morgs, people call them. Terrifying, I bet."

Henry leaned in a bit closer, gripping his poleaxe for support. intrigued. His face paled to the pearly white of Swanford's walls. The young man began to regret volunteering to work at the castle. If it came to a fight against those things, he'd be at the frontlines. "So you say?" he whispered.

"Aye. I do. You know the stories of Keen of the North and Ced of the South, don't you?"

The younger sentry nodded. They were the two warlords who ruled the wild lands of Aericanus, before Jeremiah and Michael overthrew them.

"Apparently, they found these Morgs and made them an army. Where they came from, we don't know," Malcolm said. "However," he raised a finger, "they aren't the only thing we shouldn't be afraid of."

"A dark sorcerer, named Reivynn, grows increasingly powerful. Some say he has the strength to break mountains. Others say he can steal your very soul, so that it may never move on."

Somehow, Henry grew even paler. Before he could utter a word, Malcolm continued.

"Not only that, but there are sightings of ghostly figures at night; this fief is said to be haunted. Some would put all this death and decay to just that." Malcolm acknowledged the dying landscape for emphasis. Like a true storyteller, he had been gradually building up to his finale.

"And I believe that this is connected with the Morgs. Mighty convenient that we start facing the very creatures of nightmare, all while the ghost stories your mother would tell you are beginning to come true. It'd be silly to think this wasn't coming down to a final reckoning." A savage, mirthless laugh broke from his dry lips. "Pity. I was beginning to enjoy this new kingdom."

Malcolm grinned inwardly. His little monologue had its intended effect. He cackled.

"Henry, it's like you've seen a ghost," he said as he patted the stricken lad's cheek. "Save the look for when you actually encounter one."

The older man was beginning to wonder if he had scared the boy speechless. He was about to tell him it was just a joke, and damn the consequences, but Henry found the will to speak.

"In our village, there have been a few deaths. No injuries. The victims were perfectly healthy before they… passed. Could that be why?"

Malcolm's eyes widened. That was new.

At that moment, Ysabel and her party chose to appear. They were still quite a distance away when they became visible. Henry's young eyes spotted the group before Malcolm's did. To the older sentry's chagrin, his colleague took charge.

"Raise the gates. Sound the horns. Our Lady has returned."

…

"G'morning Malcolm," said Lady Ysabel. "And who's this?" she asked, upon reaching the two sentries.

"Good morning milady. This is Henry," he said. "I was just orienting him with what is going on at this fief. I suppose these are the people who will help?"

"Yes. They are." She proceeded to name her companions, one by one. When she introduced Jeremiah, the two sentries stood straighter, in confusion. They weren't sure whether to grovel in submission or stand in salute. Probably the latter, as Jeremiah of the Bear looked like he had his fair share of battle. Yet unlike any other righteous leader, proud and true, he seemed to be a large man secluded in his own world. It was as if his years of battle broke him. They chose to simply shuffle awkwardly in place. That appeared to suffice.

So far, their Lady and Jeremiah's figure - now more blood and holes than cloth and skin - were what attracted their attention.

What Malcolm and Henry saw from Jeremiah's court was a strange bunch: a reserved Nihon - Jan, a confident blonde who exuded Gallican; and seemed quite disatisfied with his horse, a bearded man in his late sixties and a very imposing woman in strange armor. This was the gaggle that stood before them. They were larger than life, living legends; a kingdom rose by their hands. Yet these people were supposed to beat the impossible.

The guards could do nothing but let them through. Unseen by the party, Malcolm and Henry exchanged a doubtful look.

…

The mirror dimmed. Jeremiah saw Adara. That's the only thing that went through Michael's head. He and his brother were the last two, living inhabitants from the haven of hunters that was Stagheart village. Little did they know that their home existed in another reality. That of the dead.

The castle libraries contained scrolls upon scrolls of magic history and lore. Maybe he could find something. No. For countless hours, he'd be making sure a younger brother of his didn't get lost in the vast labyrinth of knowledge. Hours of experience told him there was nothing on the afterlife. Or any god - forsaken means of accessing it. He'd have to delve deeper, to the secret recesses of the library.

In his younger years, he and Jeremiah found Keen and Ced to be in possession of texts on dark magic. Those texts were banned from the land of Aericanus, kept from any pair of malevolent eyes. They were kept in an area of the library that only he and Jeremiah could enter. That's where he'd begin his search.

…

"We're going here," said Jules, marking a point on his meticulously detailed map of Aericanus. He and Jon were now in Jules' kitchen, laying out their plan of action.

Jon closely observed the plane of parched paper. "We have to pass through Whitewater gorge," stated the Prince. "That's where we freed you and..."

The air stilled. A moment, two... Then something close to commendation shone in the King of Thieves' average features - for Jon not shutting him out. Jule's brown eyes appeared to be so guileless, yet Jon could just begin to fathom their true depth and cunning. Maybe he was overthinking things, letting his feelings take over. He shoved them down.

"Further on is the mountain range, where the Citadel is located." Jon nodded in understanding. He didn't wish to send men to what was likely death, just to discover a barren portion of their kingdom. This was where Aericanus' border ended. And where the Morgs marked their territory.

"We'll scout the area. If we find the Kindle, then all the better. But I doubt that'll happen, since the Kindle is guarded."

Jon remembered the most ominous line in Kindle's scriptures: _matched only by Death_. Those words…

Supposedly, the Kindle was guarded by something as lethal as the entity Death itself. Whatever that was, Jon didn't want to face it alone with the greatest criminal ever to exist.

As if sensing his thoughts, Jules told him: "Nothing to worry about. We'll find some allies along the way." Jon sighed inwardly. He wondered what sort of _allies_ the King of Thieves himself had in store.

"Mate, you have no idea of what payment and some good circumstantial incentive can achieve." Jules' act of borderline clairvoyance was getting a bit unnerving. "Brings out the best in us. Or something close enough." From his fiendish grin, Jon suspected that the thief knew this better than anyone else.

"We stop by a few villages and acquaintances for those desperate enough to turn a profit. Be ready by daybreak, so you might as well pack up and get comfortable." And with that, he turned towards the door and left.

"And I assume we don't tell them about the nature of the thing we may face?" the Prince called.

Jules' voice echoed through the hallway, leading out of the kitchen. "We tell them that they should be prepared to die."

Despite the King of Thieves not seeing, Jon rolled his eyes, his elbows planted on the kitchen counter. "And I suppose, just anyone can come," he muttered, not caring if Jules heard him. There was a reason why he came alone. So that he could try out adventure without his brothers mollycoddling him, every step of the way. Yet he understood he needed allies. He wasn't stupid. It just seemed silly to accept just _anyone_. Then again, it wasn't in Jules' character to come unprepared.

…

Jon was sprawled on a rocking chair, now creaking on the deck of Jule's lodge. The King of Thieves reassured him that his forest was safe enough at night. The Prince took it as a chance for some fresh, evening air.

He was debating on whether to contact his brothers or not, a small part of him expecting one of them not to answer. Maybe both of them. Not now or not ever. The horrible sensation of his heart being impaled was still fresh.

But he had to. This was war and casualties were expected - even if they were his own brothers. Besides, a demented curiosity was constantly nagging him to check. He'd scry Jeremiah first. Since he was out of the protective sanctuary of Castle Aericanus, he would be more likely to cause that dreaded sensation.

The mirror's glow was a beacon in the chill, black night. A good sign - or was it Michael who was in trouble?

Shimmering into view, the Warrior appeared, surrounded by revelling soldiers. It was clear that he was safe in Swanford, and its residents were throwing a welcoming feast. What worried him were the new scrapes and gashes that covered his face.

Jeremiah jumped back in surprise as the image rippled. The image continued to blur, tinted a deep violet.

Jon had not seen Jeremiah so startled since that one time Michael and Jon had 'accidentally' barged into his bedchambers sending a maiden scrambling out of the sheets.

"You're safe", remarked the Prince, followed by a quick exhalation.

Jeremiah frowned. Sound couldn't be heard through a scrying connection, so they had to settle for lip - reading and speaking in an exaggerated manner.

"Jon, you're in my wine again," he grumbled. That explained the violet color, as well as the ripples. When scrying, any reflective surface would suffice.

"Yes, yes," he replied. "You're safe. I thought something bad happened to you," repeated the concerned Prince.

His brother looked sideways, as if unsure on how to reply. "About that... "

Bappy's drunken features slammed their way into the image. His cheeks blent into the mirror's violet surface, flushed red by the effects of alcohol.

"Three cheers for the great Jeremiah of the Bear! The only man ever to survive death itself!" That's what Jon made out of his slurring speech. And with that, the Gallican lurched off to disturb any other merrymakers.

"What? You survived death?" Granted, Bappy would have been more discreet about this. But good drink could loosen almost any tongue. That was fact.

Jeremiah, with some reluctance, described the past events in great brevity, due to the difficulty of communicating. In return, Jon set out his little adventure and how he ended up in Jule's very house. When he was done, Jon mouthed:

"Well, it's good that you're back."

A nod, as if his brother agreed with him. He turned, eyes widening. It looked like there was trouble.

"I have to go now, Jon." Jeremiah downed his wine, breaking the connection.

"Damn," hissed the Prince. He tried and tried but apparently, his stupid brother didn't have his mirror on him. Jon reached out to scry through a drink, polished metal, anything to see what was happening with Jeremiah, with no results. That couldn't be good. He'd have to check on him later. Now for Michael.

Fortunately, Michael's image was crisp and clear, which revealed dark smudges under his weary, bloodshot eyes. Behind him was a familiar shelf of books. The way he was hunched, the way his face filled the mirror meant that Michael was reading. With great interest too.

Ignoring his disheveled appearance, Jon decided to quip. "When were you so interested in reading?"

Michael stifled a yawn, just managing to mouth: "Huh? Oh. This. I'm just looking on anything about our enemy or what Reivynn may use against us." As he said this, he held out a little booklet, titled _The History of Dark Magic_.

"You're learning to think like me," the sides of Jon's eyes creased in a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Know your enemy and all that." As if he was afraid to say it, Michael asked :"Did you hear about Jeremiah?"

"Yes. No need to tell me," he replied.

"Good." The word came out a bit strained, which Jon thought nothing of. "Well, I think I should go to bed soon. It's good to know your safe. Tell me what happened next time we talk." With that, the mirror dimmed.

…

The Hunter exhaled deeply. Someday he'd tell them his true motives. But not today, given their dealings with dark magic. So far, he hadn't made much progress. The scrolls were in a language he couldn't read, or decipher. And all the little book contained were some chapters on the Vile, apparently the first and foremost user of the dark arts. The other pages were torn, more like robbed. For what reason, Michael didn't know.

He was almost at the end of the book. Maybe another day… or night. Maybe he could find someone or something that could translate the scrolls. Just one last page before going to his chambers.

On it was an old map of Aericanus with a charcoal marked X, scrawled roughly on a seemingly random point. This had to mean something. Michael's mind was voided of all ideas of rest or sleep. Now that could wait.


	14. Chapter 13

**_Author's Note:_**

 ** _In honour of my brilliant co-author's birthday,_** **Mootheman _, I am re-starting this saga! I thoroughly apologize for a full year's hiatus, alas school is brutal on both time and energy. In any case, I hope that chapter 13 satiates our loyal readers and followers thirst for thrilling adventures!_**

"I'm sure an alley full of beggars is not the first place we should be looking." Jon had been grumbling a lot lately, and with good reason too.

Jules bent down, inspecting each and every downtrodden face. He always ignored the men - at least the obvious ones. "Believe me, it is. Someone here owes me a life debt, and she might be of help," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Maybe we ought to head back to the tavern," Jon proposed. "I bet some idiot has already seen all of the recruitment posters you plastered all around." Walls, windows, doors, animals, even men who've had a bit too much to drink - nothing escaped Jules' glue brush.

The King of Thieves turned and stared Jon in the eye. "They can wait," his voice was resolute and so he resumed his inspections.

"Ahh. Here she is!"

She was a drunk, to be kind. Nevermind that. She was one hopeless drunk amongst a dozen others, in a dank, secluded alley that stunk of piss and something much more unpleasant. She was a filthy, hopeless drunk who wasn't even too far above Jon's age.

"Her? Really?"

"Yes, really," Jules enthused. "Jon, meet Christina, Christina, meet Jon," he said, as he forced Jon to shake her grimy and gritty hand.

Jon cringed at the sight of it. Only the gods knew where it had been. Fortunately for him, Christina was more interested in her bottle, leaning back to take a swig. Her lips curled in a sneer as only droplets of the cheap liquor touched them.

"Now, Christina here has some use to us, given that she is of Templar origins. As surprising as that may be considering her current status as a living corpse."

"A what?" Now that Jules mentioned it, her calloused palms spoke for themselves. But that still begged the question:

"Isn't Aaliana the last real Templar?" Jon whispered, in a little disbelief.

No reply. Jules had… disappeared.

He'd been abandoned in the vomit-reeking side road that was so generously called an alleyway. Christina rose, standing slightly shorter than Jon, who wasn't the tallest of men to begin with. Yet he felt the overwhelming need to take more than just a few steps back.

The glass bottle shattered under her grip, the pieces clattering on the floor. Her hardened and calloused palms remained unscathed.

Inching backward, Jon blanched as his back pressed on the cool, brick wall. He ever so slowly slid his had towards the pommel of his blade. She took one slow and staggering step towards him. Then another. Her fingers were splayed out and twitching as if ready to promise a slow, painful, end. Her dazed look had all but melted away, and in its place was a steely murderous glare that was focused on the prince.

Prince Jon had seen many a murderous glare, but none had ever had the effect of making him quake in his boots. With as much bravado as Jon could muster up, he swept away his ragged cloak and as he began to unsheathe his blade, he took an exaggerated swaggering step forward.

Suddenly, both of them lurched back as a hand shot out of the darkness and grasped her shoulder. "Now now Christina, if you kill my friend, we'll have problems that won't be able to be fixed by a wise word and some magic." It was Jules. Yet it wasn't. Any sign of the easygoing thief was gone. Just a cold, ruthless warning.

"If you kill Jon, you'll owe me two life debts… and a very long and unpleasant talk with his loved ones."

Something like fear registered through her drunken rage. She cringed, too shocked to fight back. Jon felt himself relax and he shifted his jagged cloak back into position to re-create the façade of a poor traveling man.

Christina stumbled into her former sitting position, legs tucked to her chest, and began to sulk.

 **"** You'll have to forgive Christina. She's been through some hard times," Jules said to Jon.

"Those pompous bastards made me go on an impossible mission: retrieve the Kindle of Fire. I could have died in the Citadel, yet Jules saved my ass, and now I'm here..."

"You've been to the Citadel," said Jon to no one in particular.

"Lost my job, my title. I'm nothing..."

Jules wagged a finger at him. "I've only been there for a few minutes. But Christina here, has studied the place for weeks."

"And now I owe my life to a thief. The gods be damned, biggest thief of them all..." she wailed.

"You didn't think it was a good idea to tell me this?" Jon turned on Jules - a bit more than ticked off. The Prince was no longer quaking in fear but instead he was quaking in anger.

"How could the gods be so cruel!?"

An infuriating shrug, from the second most infuriating person in this alleyway.

"Never reveal everything you know."

"But still. We're working together on this. Why keep it from me?"

"It wouldn't have made much of a difference..."

"Why have you forsaken me?" Christina screamed to the sky, in absolute agony.

"Will you shut up?" Jon was rewarded with a moment of silence.

"Thank…"

"BAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"As I was saying I, it wouldn't have made much of a difference whether I told you then or now," Jules cut in" "Besides, how else would I know where the Citadel is?"

For the life of him, Jon couldn't find a flaw in what he was saying. It was spotty, yes, but it was practical.

"And I swear, she's much better than this when she's sober," Jules added.

"I have no choice, don't I?"

"You can always go alone."

Only the alley, the farms, the fields, the forests and hills; the Morgs, that vast mountain range, bordering Aericanus and anything that could and would go wrong lay between him and the heart of the Citadel.

Jon sighed. "Alright. Hoist her up in three… two … one." The two just managed to get the flailing and wailing ex-Templar on their shoulders. The moment they took on some of her weight, their shoulders visibly sagged with the immense weight, much like carrying a sack of potatoes. Albeit a sack of potatoes that was reeking of cheap alcohol and thrashing about.

This was going to be a long walk back to the inn.

...

"I have to go now, " were his last words before cutting Jon off.

Jeremiah wondered if those would be his last words to either of his brothers.


End file.
